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REST OR UNREST, 


A STORY OF THE 



Parisian Sabbath in America 


/ - 

By SARAH J. JOHES, 

Author of “Words and Ways.” 



% 



NEW YORK: PHILLIPS & HUNT. 
CINCINNA TI: CRANSTON & STOWE. 


1888. 


Copyright, 1888, by 
PHILLIPS & HUNT, 
New York. 



CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER I. page 

Life’s Outlook 5 

CHAPTER II. 

The Thin Edge of the Wedge 17 

CHAPTER III. 

Rockland Furnace 31 

CHAPTER IV. 

The Sunday Petition 42 

CHAPTER V. 

The Sabbath and Man 54 

CHAPTER VI. 

Sunday Evening in Blankton. . . . ^ . 71 

CHAPTER VII. 

Disinherited 83 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Weaving a Net 92 

CHAPTER IX.' 

Dress Parade and Base-ball 105 

CHAPTER X. 

The Unfinished Story 119 


4 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER XI. PAGE 

Jews and Christians . . 132 

CHAPTER XII. 

The New Inmate 144 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Glad Tidings of Good Things 158 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Wong’s Warning 175 

CHAPTER XV. 

Reaping the Whirlwind 188 

CHAPTER XVI. 

The Sunday Newspaper 197 

CHAPTER XVII. 

The Endless Chain 206 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

A Cry from a Bereaved Heart \ 217 

CHAPTER XIX. 

At the Bar of Justice 231 

CHAPTER XX. 

“Thou Wilt Never Be Tired, My Darling” 242 

CHAPTER XXI. 

The Rest that Remaineth 251 


REST OR UNREST. 


CHAPTER I. 

life's outlook. 

Remember the Sabbath day , to keep it holy. — Exod. 20. 8 . 

I T was the evening before Commencement at 

College. The graduating class was exceptionally 
large, and the exercises gave promise of unusual 
interest. 

The institution was one of long standing, with a 
broad curriculum, and could count among its alumni 
some of the foremost men of the State and nation. 

Its walls had witnessed the upward stride of the 
ambition that works only for place and preferment, 
the flight of the nobler souls that spurn the levels 
of ignorance in their thirst to breathe the purer 
upper air of intellectual enjoyment, and the higher, 
truer aim of those who long to rise that they may 
work for the best fulfillment of the purposes of their 
existence, that they may labor for the uplifting of 
humanity. 

These three types were, on this night, well repre- 
sented by the three young men who were to bear 
away the highest honors of the class of 18—. 

It would not have been difficult for a close ob- 


G 


REST OR UNREST. 


server to assign each to the particular rank to which 
he belonged. 

Paul Jameson was kneeling beside a trunk, stowing 
away books with an air that betokened considerable 
relish for the work in which he was engaged. Having 
crowded in the last volume he shut down the lid 
with a sharp click, turned the key, and deposited it 
in his pocket as he rose with a little grimace, saying, 

“ I don’t spend so much time on my knees every 
day. And now, my worthy colleagues, we are ready 
for business. We will hear from the Honorable 
Osmond Young, Valedictorian, First Oar, and so on.” 

The young man thus designated, a tall, broad- 
chested young fellow with dark eyes and a firm- 
looking mouth, smiled half absently, but did not at 
once respond. 

“ Prospecting, eh ? ” spoke Allen Summerville, the 
other occupant of the room, who seemed as frugal 
of words as the first speaker had been prodigal. 

Osmond roused himself. 

“Prospecting? Yes, likewise retrospecting and 
introspecting,” he said. His manner was half jesting 
and half serious. Paul Jameson made a little im- 
patient movement. 

“ Don’t fly off at a tangent, Jameson,” put in 
Osmond. “ I am not going to moralize — at least 
not much. I will come to business presently; but 
at a time like this a man cannot help glancing 
backward and inward as well as forward. To-night 
I can’t keep Edward McLane out of my mind.” 

The two listeners exchanged glances and smiled. 


LIFE'S OUTLOOK. 


7 


“ Backward with a vengeance ! ” exclaimed Paul; 
“ but, pray, what has Mac to do with the ‘ true in- 
wardness * of your peregrinations?” 

“ Verily you could not have lent him either brains 
or ears, though nature has dealt bountifully with 
you in both important particulars,” added Allen. 

“We might have been more considerate of his 
affliction, and helped him in various ways to use the 
brains he had. He was not lacking in intelligence,” 
answered Osmond, firmly. “ He might have gone 
through, with a little more magnanimity on the part 
of his class-mates. He said there were obstacles 
against which he was powerless, in a letter which he 
asked me to write to a friend during his illness just 
before he left, you remember. There was no excuse 
for making him the butt of ridicule because of his 
poverty, his mistakes and his queer ways,” he added 
warmly. 

“ There wasmo excuse for his audacious blunders,” 
protested Allen. “ Bah ! drop the fellow and pro- 
ceed to business. Remember, this is an auspicious 
night. But if you are not ready for the question 
there is the regatta for a subject.” 

“ I have given up the regatta,” said Osmond, 
quietly. 

“ What ? ” ejaculated both of his companions. 

“ It will never do in the world. We' depend on 
you,” said one. 

“ I can’t help it ; I told you before the prelimi- 
naries were arranged that I wouldn’t row on Sun- 
day, and I will not,” was the cool reply. 


8 


REST OR UNREST. 


“O do be reasonable, Young,” urged Paul. “If 
you had any valid excuse the fellows might be will- 
ing to let you off ; but — ” 

“ My excuse is and must be that the Bible says, 

‘ Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy,’ ” an- 
swered Osmond, steadily. 

“ And what saith the Koran of Mohammed to his 
followers? And what saith the Zend Avesta of 
Zoroaster to the magician and the Parsu ?” ques- 
tioned Allen ; lazily, with half-shut eyes, not because ' 
he was really feeling indifferent, but because he 
thought that in thus classing these false Scriptures 
with the Bible he had made a good hit, and wished 
to appear superior to the weakness of elation. 

But Osmond answered very coolly, “ The Alcoran 
teaches that those who reject the truth will be pun- 
ished, and the Zend Avesta declares that there is a 
ceaseless conflict going on between light and dark- 
ness — which seems to be true so far as it goes. The 
struggle is over with me, however, so far as this 
regatta is concerned. I fought it out with myself, 
and the question is settled. I claim the privilege of 
choosing the light and rejecting the darkness as it 
presents itself to me.” 

The speaker’s manner and tone were full of de- 
cision. A more fluctuating spirit would have been 
assailed from all sides and might in the end have 
yielded its convictions to the pressure brought to 
bear upon them. But Allen Summerville and Paul 
Jameson knew that this was no vacillating nature 
with which they had to deal, and gave up the effort, 


LIFE'S OUTLOOK . 


0 


though not with very good grace, while each, un- 
acknowledged to himself, respected Osmond more 
for his unswerving fidelity to his principles. 

“ Well, then, our crew is fated to a failure,” was 
muttered, and that was all. 

A little silence fell upon the trio, which was 
presently broken by Osmond himself in a manner 
bearing with it the assumption that he had given no 
cause for personal offense, nor yet had reason for 
any on his own part. 

“ Well,” he said, “ if we are to plan our future 
lives to-night we would better begin. We shall get 
no time for sleep — unless we all expect to die young, 
and the tale is soon told.” 

“ Whom the gods love,” drawled Allen. 

“ I have no reason to believe myself a special 
favorite,” continued Osmond, “and if I die young 
it is more likely to be as a victim at the shrine of 
Plutus. But, heathen divinities aside, I must say 
honestly that I hardly know how to meet our com- 
pact squarely. It seemed not to have been left for 
me to plan my ifuture. It appears to have been 
already laid out, so far as human wisdom can do 
such a thing, though of course this fact does not 
relieve me of responsibility in the matter. 

“ To be brief, I am to inherit my uncle’s prop- 
erty on condition that on leaving college I enter 
heartily with him into the interest to which he has 
given most of his life — railroads and iron manu- 
facture. 

“ I can say honestly that I do not like the pros- 


10 


REST OR UNREST. 


pect. It is not the line of life that my tastes would 
suggest, but my obligations to my uncle — ” 

“ Present and prospective,” interpolated Allen. 

Osmond acquiesced good-naturedly with a bow 
— “ indicate that I ought to consult his wishes in 
the matter.” 

“ Humph ! I should not stop long to consult any 
body’s wishes or tastes in the presence of furnace 
and railroad stock,” exclaimed Paul Jameson, en- 
thusiastically. “You are in luck, man, up to those 
liberal ears of yours. I congratulate you heartily, 
with the mental reservation that I wish it was my- 
self instead of you.” 

“ Mine too, O Midas ! ” put in Allen. 

“ Thank you, boys,” responded Osmond, “ but 
allow me to say that when you two look down from 
the heights of your chosen greatness you will see 
things differently. I congratulate you on your free- 
dom to carve for yourselves such places as you may 
desire and are fitted, or can be fitted, to fill. Paul 
Jameson next ! ” he concluded with a little effort at 
lightness. 

Paul began : 

“Chapter First. Beggarly chap just turned out 
into the pitiless world, by his merciless alma mater, 
with only his brains and a little education. No rich 
relatives, no railroad stock, no any thing but pluck 
and the determination to succeed.” 

“ By fair means or foul,” suggested Allen. 

“Be quiet till your turn, comes,” replied Paul, re- 
suming : 


LIFE'S OUTLOOK \ 


11 


“ He sees a long, strong ladder called Pol- 
itics — ” 

“Just as I told you,” interrupted Allen — 

“ And he enters on the study of the law with a 
view to scaling this ladder to some good place at 
the top, perhaps the highest to be found.” 

“ ‘ I came, I saw,’ and so forth,” concluded 
Allen. “ I speak in time for a fat office as near the 
throne as possible. Meanwhile I have the floor, I 
believe, but I have not much to say. I want to be a 
man of letters and of leisure, and of course, to this 
end, a man of means. If the divine afflatus should 
move me to the inditing of a volume, whether of 
prose or poetry, I hope you will buy it, read it, and 
appreciate it. But if I never mount any higher 
than the editorial chair of a village patent-outside- 
sheet I shall continue to investigate, and give the 
world — -my world — the benefit of my researches. 
Not so much,” he added with a lazy laugh, “ for the 
purpose of benefiting the world as for the sake of 
following the bent of my mind. “ I shall advocate 
progress. I shall fight ignorance. I shall make 
war on narrow ideas and antiquated, exploded and 
worn-out theories, whether scientific, political, social 
or religious. I shall regard neither the high nor the 
low. I shall attack churches, railroad magnates, 
governors, presidents, and such, indiscriminately, if 
the course pursued by any or all of them should 
clash with my views of the fitness of things. I shall 
speak the truth fearlessly.” 

“ Being yourself a consolidated edition of all the 


12 


REST OR U K RE ST. 


wisdom of all the wise, of course you will always 
know the truth,” retaliated Paul. 

The talk ran on in this light vein for some time, 
but gradually all relapsed into silence. There was 
more of serious feeling in the little company than 
their words betokened. When they finally separated, 
and Osmond Young with Allen Summerville started 
to their rooms, Osmond said, laying his hand on the 
arm of the latter, 

“ Old fellow, I wish you good-speed in battling 
down the strongholds of ignorance and superstition. 
I hope you will fight error wherever you find it ; 
but be sure, in your attacks upon what you deem 
antiquated and exploded theories, that you do not 
assail the bulwarks of eternal truth. Good-night.” 

They had reached the door of the speaker’s room 
and he entered without waiting for reply. But Allen 
halted at the door. 

“Thanks for your warning,” he said. “I say, 
Young, that uncle of yours ought to have been a 
parson, and bound you to follow that calling.” 

Osmond flushed a little at the sneer that was 
barely perceptible in his companion’s tone ; but he 
answered firmly : 

“ No, I do not think I have received the high 
honor of a call in that direction, and as for — but 
come in, a few minutes, Summerville. I want to tell 
you a story. I have never told it before. It is not 
•generally known, and I want you to promise not to 
repeat it, although I shall feel myself bound in honor 
not to divulge the names of the persons referred to. 


LIFE'S OUTLOOK. 


13 


I shall not sermonize on the affair, but simply 
give you the facts, the truth of which I can vouch 
for.” 

Summerville gave the desired promise and sat 
down. 

“ I feel impelled to tell you the story,” continued 
Osmond ; “ but I shall make it as brief as possible. 
There live in one of our large cities a man and wife 
who some twenty-five years ago, during a Sabbath 
excursion, lost a little son by drowning. The child 
fell from the bow of the boat and was passed quite 
over by the steamer. Its body was afterward re- 
covered, and a dark bruise on the forehead showed 
that on rising it had met the cruel timbers that sent 
it back to its death. 

“The mother’s sorrow was deep, but chastened 
and submissive. The father’s grief took the form 
of fierce rebellion. He denied the justice of the 
Almighty, and talked blasphemously of cruelty and 
outrage. He kept the little body in its casket for 
weeks before he would permit its burial. Finally he 
consented that his dead should be buried out of his 
sight, but his heart still retained its bitterness. 

“Years passed and there came another son to 
take the place so long vacant. When it was two 
years old, about the same age at which the other 
had been removed, the father astounded his wife by 
saying to her one day: ‘ Lizzie, there is an excursion 
advertised for next Sunday on the Mermaid . We 
have never accompanied one since that wretched 
day when the baby was drowned. I am going with 


14 


REST OR UNREST \ 


this one and shall take you and Julian; and I defy 
heaven and earth to take that child away from me.’ 

“ In vain his wife begged him to cease such lan- 
guage and to desist from his purpose. Her plead- 
ings and tears were of no avail. He declared that 
nothing could move his will, and in the end the 
mother tremblingly consented to go, that she might 
watch over her child. 

“ You will, perhaps, not think it strange that a 
storm should have arisen when the yacht was some 
distance off from shore — such things are not of 
uncommon occurrence — nor that she should have 
been driven upon rocks and wrecked, nor that in 
the haste and terror of the time the child should 
have passed into other hands for a moment in 
transmitting the passengers from the vessel to the 
boats; but those wretched parents never looked on 
the face of their child again, although they had no 
reason to believe that it was drowned, but quite 
the contrary. 

“ The mother’s life and reason were both de- 
spaired of for awhile, though in time she in a meas- 
ure rallied from the blow. The father’s state of 
mind became more lamentable than before. 

“ Every effort was made to find some trace of the 
lost one, but all in vain. It has never been heard 
from to this day. I do not expect that you will be 
impressed with the circumstances as I have been. 
The story has been wrought into my very nature 
by its familiarity. I have known of the parents all 
my life. The child, if still alive, is now some two 


LIFE'S OUTLOOK. 


15 


years older than myself, but the mother still speaks 
of him as ‘ her baby.’ She scans the face of every 
little one she sees, apparently still engaged in the 
long, long, unavailing search, though her mind is 
perfectly clear upon every other subject. The 
father never refers to the loss, but it is easy to see 
that his mind is often busy with the problem of 
sorrow. He is to-day, not a careless violator, but a 
violent opposer of the Sabbath, and seems to study 
to devise methods for its desecration. I have heard 
that he called the missing child Julian, for Julian 
the apostate, and it may be well that he did not 
have the opportunity of training it to emulate the 
example of its namesake. 

“ That is all. I hardly know why I have told you 
the story, unless it was your question classing the 
Bible with the Koran and the Zend Avesta, re- 
minding me of some of the remarks which I have 
heard from — the gentleman of whom I have told 
you.” 

“Well, but, Young, I see the drift of your thoughts. 
You think the mysterious removal of the child a 
direct retribution for Sabbath-breaking and pre- 
sumption. I should call it simply a coincidence,” 
said Allen, as he rose to leave the room. 

“ Does not history furnish a good many coin- 
cidences of the same kind?” asked Osmond, 
quietly. 

“ Possibly,” replied his companion. “ History is 
said to repeat itself, you know. Well, Young, I 
have no wish to change your views on the subject.” 


16 


REST OR UNREST. 


“ I should like to change yours,” responded his 
friend. Summerville laughed and said good-night, 
but presently turned back to add banteringlv: 

“We three chaps will have an opportunity to 
test one another’s theories if we all settle down at 
home and give our native city the privilege of 
witnessing our exploits.” 

“ I think that was to be a part of the agreement, 
all things being favorable,” replied Osmond. 

“Well,” said Summerville, confidently, using his 
favorite word for introducing a remark, “ we shall 
see what we shall see.” 


THE THIN END OF THE WEDGE. 


17 


CHAPTER II. 


THE THIN END OF THE WEDGE, 


And they laid it up till the morning. . . . And Moses said , Eat 
that to-day ; for to-day is a Sabbath unto the Lord: 
to-day ye shall not find it in the field. — Exod. 16 ; 24-25. 



HE winter was past. It was that delightful 


X season when the earliest flowers lift up their 
delicate heads ; when the cherry and peach blos- 
soms are in all the beauty of their creamy white and 
glowing pink; when the birds have come home to 
us and their songs seem the echo of the gladness of 
our own hearts. 

My reader has doubtless experienced the thrill of 
strong confidence, that seed-time and harvest, sum- 
mer and winter shall not cease, that fills us anew in 
the glow and brightness which in spring come to all 
things that have seemed forsaken and forgotten 
through the long night of winter. 

A thought akin to this, yet scarcely defined, was 
in the mind of a girl who stood by the river-side 
looking across the muddy water to a solitary willow 
that was donning its brightest green, as if, notwith- 
standing its isolation and unimportance, it too was 
remembered in the new awakening. 

The sight of the poor little tree bravely lifting 
its green boughs toward heaven awoke a thrill in 
the heart that beat under the patched calico dress, 


2 


13 


A 'EST OR UNREST. 


and she vaguely wondered if a spring-tide might not 
some time come to her poor life. 

She had slowly made her way half-way down the 
path with the dirty wooden pail in her hand, and 
now stood swinging it lightly to and fro as she wove 
her little dream. 

“ Edna, are you waiting for the river to come to 
you ? ” called out a harsh voice from the top of the 
bank. 

The girl started, and the peaceful expression 
on her face gave place to a sullen, gloomy look, as 
without turning round she went down to the water, 
and at the imminent risk of falling in dipped the 
bucket into the murky stream and returned slowly 
and painfully to the top of the bank, while the man 
who had hastened her errand stood with his hands 
in his pockets and looked on. 

Edna did not look at him ; she kept her face a 
little averted and there was a hard look in her eyes 
that is painful to see in the faces of the young. She 
knew the seedy figure with its shabby Sunday “ gen- 
tility,” its unkempt beard, watery eyes and unsteady 
mouth. She knew it all by heart. It was part of 
the hard, separated lot in life that made her feel 
akin to the lonely, scraggy tree by the river-side, 
which she had watched swaying in naked helpless- 
ness through all the winter gales. 

“ How often have I told you not to loiter,? You 
will never get through the world at such a rate,” 
the man said prosingly as he turned and followed 
her toward the place which they called home. 


THE THIN END OF THE WEDGE. 


19 


“ ‘ Prompt and steady at it’ is the only way, and 
‘well begun is half done,’ ” he went on. 

The girl paid no attention whatever to his plati- 
tudes. She did not even quicken her slow steps in 
answer to their wise suggestions. Perhaps she did 
not hear them. She had heard them so often, and 
sounds that have become monotonous often fall on 
the ear unnoticed. 

“ I want my dinner at twelve sharp,” he added 
presently. The girl spoke for the first time. 

“What will you have, father ? ” she asked, sud- 
denly turning about, and spilling the water over her 
feet and ankles as she did so. 

“ Ham and eggs, a pot of coffee, and a big loaf of 
baker’s bread ? ” she continued. 

“ O any thing that you have in the house will do, 
I guess. What have you ? ” 

“ Nothing,” she replied in that same tone of bitter 
flippancy. 

“ Well,” he answered, putting his hand in his 
pocket and producing a coin, “ take this ; they who 
work must eat. I gave you half a dollar just last 
week,” he added, with an attempt at dignified re- 
proof. “You must try to learn frugality, my girl ; 
‘ A penny saved is worth two earned.’ ” 

Edna did not take the pains to answer. She did 
not seem in the least troubled at the implied charge 
of having wasted a part of the pittance which had 
furnished a week’s supplies while several times the 
amount had gone into the saloon-keeper’s cash- 
drawers. The only feeling which she displayed for 


20 


REST OR UNREST. 


the man whom she called father was one of ill-con- 
cealed disgust. 

She went into the house and deposited her bur- 
den on a rickety bench that tottered under its 
weight, brightened up the fire, and then set out to 
buy provisions. 

As she walked along she looked at the bit of 
silver and wondered if it would be possible to save 
a cent from the amount after purchasing the bacon, 
eggs and bread. She turned the problem over and 
over in her mind as she turned the coin in her little 
brown fingers. 

The wise old saws with which her father was con- 
stantlyregaling her ears had usually little meaning for 
her. She had long since indignantly rejected in ad- 
vance all the precepts which he poured forth with try- 
ing profusion when not in his worst moods; but his 
quotation in regard to the pennies, though its utter 
absurdity struck her at the time, came back to her 
now as she looked at the money and wished that she 
could save even a cent toward buying the book upon 
which she had set her heart. It was a story-book, 
soiled, dog-eared and having the covers off, but 
which seemed a treasure to her and which a neighbor 
newsboy had offered for a trifle. 

“ If I go without my supper I can save enough 
to pay for it,” she said to herself, pausing a moment 
to think the matter over, when suddenly there was 
a rush along the sidewalk, somebody jostled her 
elbow, the money on which so much depended flew 
out of her hand, and she was hurried along with the 


THE THIN END OF THE WEDGE . 21 

crowd for some distance before she was able to turn 
back. 

The excitement of a street-fight had caused the 
tumult which had resulted in the loss, trifling in 
itself, but meaning severe blame, if not blows, to 
the shabby girl, who turned back with a startled 
face and hurried along the pavement, looking on 
every side for the lost money. Griffith Varney’s 
prosy proverbs might be harmless enough and give 
his daughter no second thought, but the result of a 
loss was a serious thing, as the girl had learned 
more than once. 

She looked in vain for the half dollar. It must 
have rolled far away, or else some one had picked 
it up. She went on and on, with her head bent and 
eyes fixed on the ground. 

What is that? Ah, somebody else has been a 
loser also. There, just before her, lay a leather 
pocket-book well strapped and apparently well filled. 
It was the work of a moment to snatch it up and 
spring into an alley, where she could examine it 
without fear of the owner coming back and surpris- 
ing her. Had this child of poverty, who could but 
dimly remember better days, fallen heir to a large 
fortune she would not have been more elated than 
she was over the crisp bank-notes that met her eyes. 
The thought of trying to return the money never 
entered her mind. Her only feeling was exultation 
over her good luck, as she mentally styled it, and 
the determination to share her secret and her wealth 
with no one. 


22 


REST OR UNREST. 


The sight of so much money had caused her to 
lose sight of her late dilemma in regard to the din- 
ner which she had been sent to buy. She smiled a 
’ little scornful smile as she remembered it, and, tak- 
ing out one of the smaller bills and thrusting the 
pocket-book out of sight, she crossed over to the 
other side of the street and resumed her way to 
the grocery. 

There would be no need to go without her sup- 
per, but instead she could buy as many good things 
as was consistent with prudence. And now her 
ambition soared above the dirty, dog-eared volume 
which she had lately longed to possess. There 
were scores of books in beautiful bindings of scarlet, 
crimson, violet and green, with gilt titles, and she 
could have her choice by sacrificing a part of her 
fortune. Which should she choose? Her wealth 
was already becoming slightly burdensome. 

Edna Varney had always, shrunk from the Sunday 
purchases which she was often compelled to make. 
Her father was often at work on the Sabbath, but 
when he was off duty on that day he made it a 
season of drinking and carousal, and usually spent 
in his reveling the earnings of the other six. His 
daughter was often sent to the saloon round the 
corner, with a broken-nosed pitcher, for the liquor 
which made him less and less worthy of the name 
of man. 

The Sabbath texts which her mother had taught 
her would come back to her on these occasions, and, 
despite her evil surroundings and limited knowledge 


THE THIN END OF THE WEDGE. 


23 


of all things good and pure, she inwardly protested 
against the drunkenness and Sabbath desecration. 

But to-day she had not time for rnany thoughts 
of this kind. There was the wealth that had come 
to her unsought to occupy her mind. She felt as 
if the story of her acquisition was written in large 
legible characters on her countenance, as she en- 
tered the grocery where she usually made her pur- 
chases. 

When the articles were placed before her she 
handed the grocer the bright, fresh note, looking 
meanwhile attentively at the rows of pickle bottles 
on the shelf. To her intense satisfaction and relief 
the man asked her no questions. The sight of a clean 
bank-note was not so unusual to the well-to-do grocer 
as to the shabbily-dressed drunkard’s child. She 
felt so much relieved and in such haste to be gone 
that she gathered up her purchases and hurried out 
without waiting for her balance, and the grocer, 
who was just in the act of taking it from the cash- 
drawer, put it back again and resumed his morning 
paper. 

When Edna reached home, fearing the blame 
which she had learned to expect and which might 
prove troublesome in this instance, she hastened 
her preparations for dinner. She fried the bacon, 
made the coffee, and sliced the white bread which 
the grocer had pronounced fresh, the truth of which 
statement its dryness contradicted. Then she 
spread the table with more care than usual. She 
felt a newly-awakened interest in life and its duties 


24 


REST OR UNREST. 


because of the money, not her own, which had so 
suddenly come into her hands. 

It occurred to her that she must find some safe 
place in which to conceal her treasure. Her first 
thought was to hide it in her straw bed, but the 
recollection of a fire of which she had heard, in 
which money was lost, decided her to find a better 
place for depositing her fortune. Then she thought 
of sewing it up in her dress ; but she might be 
arrested and her person searched for the money. 
That would not do. She fell back upon the old 
oft-practiced trick of taking out a loose brick and 
secreting her wealth behind it. Taking the pre- 
caution of looking up and down the street to see 
that her father was not near, she mounted on a 
chair and began her search for a loose brick in the 
wall from which the plastering had fallen in many 
places. For a long time she tried in vain. She 
had heard of bags of gold being found in such 
receptacles, and she had received the impression 
that loose bricks were common enough in old tene- 
ment-houses like the one in which she had lived, 
in the suburbs of tjie city, almost ever since she 
could recollect. She got a case knife and tried 
to pry one and then another that did not seem 
very secure in their places ; but, although the mor- 
tar appeared to have fallen from around them, 
something held them fast. 

All at once she came upon one that yielded to 
her efforts so suddenly and unexpectedly that it 
fell thundering to the floor, and, lo, some one else 


THE THIN END OF THE WEDGE 25 

had used the opening for a store-room before her. 
A quantity of papers fluttered to the floor, scatter- 
ing about in all directions. 

At this moment Edna heard her father’s step 
outside, and, springing from the chair like a cat, she 
set it in its accustomed place, and hurriedly gather- 
ing up the papers she crammed them into her 
pocket, already weighed down with the pocket- 
book and its contents. 

In her fright she hoped that her father had bee.n 
drinking and might not be in a condition to notice 
that there was any thing amiss. She felt no doubt 
that he had hidden the papers and would be very 
angry to learn that she had discovered them. 
Besides, how should she explain what she was look- 
ing for? 

A moment later he came reeling in and called 
for something to eat. “ Be quick about it, too! ” 
he added authoritatively. 

The girl bustled about and soon had the dinner 
smoking on the table. 

“ Another cup of coffee ! ” he demanded when 
he had finished his third cup ; and Edna began to 
fear that he would become sufficiently sobered to 
notice the brick lying not far from his chair. She 
took her stand between her father and the dreaded 
object, as if to be ready to wait upon him, but he 
impatiently ordered her to go and sit down, as if 
he knew that she had some hidden motive for her 
attentiveness to his wants. 

At last, to her intense satisfaction, he left the 


26 


REST OR UNREST. 


house, and Edna carefully replaced the papers and 
restored the brick to its former position. She 
would look elsewhere for a hiding-place for her 
treasure. She wondered that any body should 
take the trouble to hide a lot of old letters, which 
seemed to her to be of no importance whatever. 
She had often dreamed that she was possessor of 
many such bank-notes as those which she had just 
found, and that afterward, to her sore disappoint- 
ment, they proved to be only scraps of blank 
papers. Suppose it should be so now ? She stop- 
ped and dried her hands twice while she was wash- 
ing the dishes in order to assure herself of the real- 
ity of her riches. When her work was done she 
again cast about for a safe place for depositing the 
fortune which had already cost her loss of appetite 
and a nervous tremor which shook her from head 
to foot. 

But first she must try to find out exactly how 
much she was worth. She fastened the door, at 
the risk of being knocked down should her 
father return in an ill humor and find himself 
bolted out. Then she dropped the dingy curtain 
lest some passer-by should discover what she was 
doing. 

All things being now ready, she spread her 
notes on the table and began laboriously counting 
on her figures to try to ascertain the amount. Her 
eyes grew brighter and her cheeks more deeply 
flushed as the sum increased, and she began to 
wonder if she had not almost as much as Mr. 


THE THIN END OF THE WEDGE. 


27 


Slocum, the flourishing grocer, or even old Mr. 
Issachar, the rich Jew who kept a jewelry store 
and old clothes establishment just opposite. 

While she was still counting, and this half-bur- 
densome, half-pleasing consideration was floating 
in an undercurrent of thought, there came a light 
tap at the door. 

Quickly clutching together the pile of paper 
before her, the startled girl crammed it into the 
pocket-book. The bulk, having no compactness, 
occupied too much room to admit of its being strap- 
ped, and she thrust it into her pocket. Her dress 
was very scant, and to her dismay there was a sus- 
picious-looking lump plainly visible on that side. 

The knock was repeated, and she dared not delay 
longer. She unfastened and opened the door 
with shaking hands, expecting to see a magistrate 
with two or three policemen ; but no, it was only 
a harmless-looking little woman with a child in her 
arms. 

“ O, Miss Laura, I am so glad it is you ! ” she 
panted. “ I was frightened.” 

“ Did I knock too loud ? ” asked the visitor, 
smiling. 

“No — I don’t know— something startled me,” 
she stammered, blushing guiltily. “ I thought it 
might be Bob Levering. He scares me some- 
times when I am alone.” 

The thought of Bob Levering had not entered 
her mind until this moment, and she was not in the 
least afraid of the fun-loving boy who lived just 


REST OR UNREST. 


around the corner; but she was at a loss to account 
for her agitation, and so grasped at the first thought 
that presented itself, regardless of the falsehood. 

“You have not been to the Sunday-school 
lately, I hear,’’ said the lady, kindly, when she 
was seated on one of the dusty chairs of the mis- 
erable room. 

“ No’m,” answered Edna, confusedly, and then 
she added, in a defiant way, “ I had nothing fit to 
wear. Miss Laura, and Mrs. Weldon was not there, 
and I did not like my new teacher, and the girls 
thought they were better than I ; and when I am 
dressed in silk and velvet I will not speak to 
them!” 

This threat of the ragged, almost barefooted 
girl, with her squalid surroundings, would have 
provoked at least a smile on the part of “ the girls ” 
could they have heard it. But Miss Laura, as 
Edna had called her, looked very grave. 

“ Mrs. Weldon has moved away from Blankton ; 
that is why she left her class,” she said. 

“ I am sorry she has gone,” answered Edna, ear- 
nestly. “ She was good to me, and treated me as 
well as she did those who wore better clothes. 
Where has she gone, and when will she come 
back ? ” 

“She has gone to Rockland Furnace to live,” 
was the answer, “and she wished me to come and 
see if I could do any thing for you, and tell you 
that she hoped you would not forget what you 
have learned. I cannot go to the school on ac- 


THE THIN END OF THE WEDGE. 


29 


count of baby, but if you will come to me on Sun- 
day afternoons I will teach you and help you all I 
can.” 

“ I am much obliged,” stammered Edna, in a 
low tone, clutching spasmodically at the lump in 
the side of her dress; “but I don’t know whether 
I can go or not.” 

Her conscience was troubling her. She had 
learned enough to know that to keep the money 
which she had found was incompatible with the re- 
quirements of God’s word. She had once learned 
the text, “ For what shall it profit a man, if he shall 
gain the whole world and lose his own soul? Or 
what shall a man give in exchange for his soul ? ” 
(St. Mark viii, 36, 3 7 .) She had been far from a 
clear understanding of the momentous questions 
asked. The thought of such a gain as the whole 
world was one that she could not grasp, while the 
loss, though it seemed something terrible to con- 
template, was far beyond her comprehension; but 
a similar problem now presented itself. Who 
among the wisest can fully fathom all that is in- 
volved in such an exchange? Which way would 
the balance tremble ? 

There was silence for a little while. 

“ Baby is sweeter than ever,” Edna said presently, 
for the purpose of turning the conversation into 
another channel, and then she asked, wistfully: 
“Might I hold him a little while sometimes if I 
come ? ” 

“Certainly; just as long as you like,” answered 


30 


REST OR UNREST. 


the visitor, smiling. “ He will soon learn to know 
you if you come often.” 

“ Then I guess I will come ; but I don’t know 
sure,” with another little grasp at her pocket. 

Who could tell but that, through her love for 
little children, this babe might be made the means 
of leading her into the better way ? God’s plans 
are not like ours. 

Edna’s friend was somewhat puzzled by her man- 
ner, but she took her leave hoping for the best. 

Mrs. Weldon, in her new home, was thinking of 
her mission class and hoping for the welfare of the 
poor children who had touched her heart so deeply. 
She was praying for them all, and for none more 
earnestly than for the drunkard’s shabby daughter. 


ROCKLAND FURNACE . 


31 


CHAPTER III. 


ROCKLAND FURNACE 


Six days thou shall work; but on the seventh day thou shalt 
rest : in earing time and in harvest thou shalt rest . — 
Exod. 34. 21. 

HE first Sunday spent by the Weldon family at 



X Rockland was past. It had not seemed much 
like the Sabbath to which they had been accus- 
tomed. They had missed the privileges which the 
day had been used to bring to them. The children 
were glad when it was over. 

On Monday Mr. Arnold called, and he and the 
new superintendent walked out to view the situa- 
tion and talk over business matters. 

“ I am glad you are early on the ground, Mr. 
Weldon ; we shall expect the furnace to start on 
the 8th/’ said Mr. Arnold. 

“ By your leave I shall substitute the 9th, the 
8th being Sunday,” replied Mr. Weldon. “Of 
course we shall be obliged to run one Sunday in 
order to get in full blast ; but I should like the men 
to understand that it is of necessity, and not of 
choice.” 

Mr. Arnold stared blankly at the speaker for a 
moment. 

“Why, sir,” he said at length, “the men under- 
stand that we run every Sunday at Rockland.” 


32 


REST OR UNREST. 


“Then I resign my position unconditionally,” 
replied the other. 

“You cannot do that, sir,” replied the iron king. 
“ It takes two to make a bargain and two to break 
it honorably, I take it. I have your agreement to 
the contract in black and white.” 

His companion was silent for a moment. 

“ I cannot do this thing, Mr. Arnold,” he said at 
length; “it is against my principles. You cannot 
compel a man to trample on his convictions of right 
and wrong. Besides, there is my family.” 

“ Here is your family,” answered Mr. Arnold, with 
a little smile and a wave of the hand toward the 
superintendent’s house ; and then he added : 

“ For their sakes you will hardly throw up a 
situation with a good salary at a time when there 
are hundreds of men out of employment.” 

“ But, sir, there are two sides to this question,” 
replied Mr. Weldon. “ As you intimate, I have 
brought my family here from a distance, and can ill 
afford the further expense of moving again — besides 
having no place to go to ; but the thought of stay- 
ing here under such conditions staggers me. What 
has my family, what have I to look forward to if 
life is to go on thus, each week an endless chain in 
the whirling, dizzying machinery of labor? No rest, 
no time for home duties and enjoyments, no quiet 
Sabbath hours, no church or Sunday-school ! ” 

Mr. Arnold smiled in a way that was slightly 
cynical. 

“Well, if you have been accustomed to attending 


ROCKLAND FURNACE. 


33 


church and Sunday-school you will doubtless miss 
them for awhile,” he said ; “ but we are not in the 
habit of giving our hands a day out of every week 
to spend in idleness. I assure you the effect would 
be utterly demoralizing. They are lazy enough at 
the best,” he added, laughing. 

“ No wonder,” replied Mr. Weldon. “ The most 
industrious, energetic set of workers God ever made 
would degenerate into listless, uninterested, unwill- 
ing laborers under such a system as yours. I tell 
you, sir, your purpose will eventually defeat its own 
ends. Your hands would do more and better work 
if they were allowed the day of rest which is theirs 
by right of the wise Creator’s own appointment.” 

“ Mr. Weldon,” answered the iron manufacturer, 
“ I should be glad to humor your opinions in this 
matter, since they seem unaffectedly sincere; but to 
us the question of profit and loss is clearly demon- 
strable, based on the common- sense argument that 
seven tons of iron will sell for more, by one seventh, 
than six tons. It requires no nice mathematical 
calculation to demonstrate that problem. How- 
ever,” he went on,” seeing his companion about to 
reply, “ I do not in the least object to your holding 
to your views. I have found men of your stamp 
most trustworthy and efficient.” 

“ Do not expect too much of honor and trust- 
worthiness in one whom you compel to violate his 
conscience,” replied Mr. Weldon, bitterly. “ If a 
man is driven to the necessity of ignoring his obli- 
gations to his God, don’t expect unwavering fidelity, 
3 


34 


REST OR UNREST. 


unswerving disinterestedness in your service. Look 
out rather for a general weakening of the moral 
sense all round. Good evening, Mr. Arnold, I will 
see you again to-morrow.” 

M'eariwhile Mrs. Weldon and her two older chil- 
dren, aged respectively twelve and fourteen years of 
age, were also discussing the situation. 

“ I don’t think I shall like it at all,” Leonora was 
saying. “ It is farther away than our other furnace 
was, and that was bad enough. Farther away from 
every thing good, I mean,” she explained, as her 
brother smiled at her indefinite complaint. 

“Farther from civilization, for instance?” he 
queried. “ That is true, and since we have lived in 
the city it is like being buried alive.” 

“They have no church, and no Sunday-school,” 
continued the little girl, beginning a list of her 
deprivations. 

“ Then we can be missionaries, and see how much 
good we can do,” said her mother, cheerfully. 
“ There seem to be plenty of children at the fur- 
nace, and we may be able to accomplish a great 
deal. We will talk with papa about the matter and 
see what can be done. We should be more desirous 
of doing good than of having pleasant times for 
ourselves, you know. That is the spirit which act- 
uates the missionaries who leave their homes and 
go to China and Africa, and live in infinitely worse 
places than Rockland Furnace town.” 

“ Rockland is bad enough,” said Allie, in a low 
tone. 


ROCKLAND FURNACE. 


35 


“ Then let us do what we can to make it better,” 
replied his mother, who had overheard the remark, 
“ and let us not forget the blessings we stijl have. 
We are all in good health, which is no small item, 
and we have plenty to eat while many are hungry. 
We should feel that it was ordered by a special prov- 
idence that papa received the offer of this situ- 
ation when the works, at Blankton were about to 
stop. There are men with large families who would 
be glad of the position. Let us count up our mercies 
now and then, that we may not be unthankful.” 

Neither of the children made any reply, but their 
faces still looked troubled. 

“Now, my dears,” continued their mother, “ go 
and take a walk, and see how many attractive views 
you can find about Rockland. I believe there are 
some fine bits of landscape that you may like for 
your sketch-book, Allie.” 

The brother and sister went out, but without 
making much effort to show the enthusiasm which 
they did not feel. 

Mrs. Weldon sighed as she watched them down 
the narrow street of the unattractive little furnace 
town. “ Our times are in thy hand,” she mur- 
mured softly, as a slight feeling of loneliness and 
homesickness came over her. 

“ If it were not for the children I should not 
mind so much,” she added, musingly. “ God is 
here as well as elsewhere ; his blessed sunshine is 
over all, and his Sabbaths will come even to this 
unsightly spot.” 


36 


REST OR UNREST. 


She ran her eye along the rows of houses, each a 
fac-simile of all the others, except now and then the 
appearance of one would present a little more of 
thriftlessness and squalor: a few more rags stuffed 
in the windows ; a gate off at both hinges instead 
of only one ; a trifle more of old tin cans and 
broken crockery in the street before the door. 

Mrs. Welden turned away to another window and 
looked out to the green hills with a feeling of relief. 

“ I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills whence 
cometh my help,” came the text, and her prayer 
went up to the throne of God for strength and 
patience. She had greater need of divine help than 
she knew. 

She set about preparing supper. A little later 
Mr. Weldon came in, and a glance at his face told 
her that something was wrong. 

“ You never suspected when we came to this place 
that we were to take up our abode in a heathen 
land, did you, Anna ? ” he asked. 

“ Ah, well — we may have the privilege of being 
instrumental in civilizing and Christianizing it,” 
was answered, re-assuringly. 

“ Not we ! ” And the speaker shook his head de- 
spondently. “ I may as well tell you the truth, 
Anna. The place seems to be utterly God-forsaken 
— utterly! They have no Sabbath here. Think 
of it ! ” 

“ We must do what we can to inaugurate one,” 
she answered, bravely. 

“You do not understand,” replied her husband. 


ROCKLAND FURNACE. 


37 


“ The furnace runs seven days in the week, and I 
shall be compelled, in common with the other em- 
ployes, to desecrate the day which I have been 
taught to hold as sacred. I shall be obliged to 
keep the hands at work all day. So much for my 
influence upon others, to say nothing of my own 
loss.” 

“ Shall you stay, in that case?” asked Mrs. Wel- 
don, in a startled way. 

“ I have no choice. I am bound hand and foot ! ” 
was the despairing answer. “ I should never have 
come if I had known, of course, though we could 
not have remained in Blankton long; but now that 
we are here there is no alternative. I cannot see 
you and the children suffer, and our means, as you 
know, will not enable me to live without work. I 
am hedged in,” he concluded, desperately. 

“ May not this be a trial of your faith ? ” suggested 
his wife. “ Who knows but the Lord is preparing 
better things for us if we will but let go all human 
help and trust him wholly! ” 

“ We have no right to look for miracles,” replied 
Mr. Weldon. “ You know that Lannard, Wilkins, 
Humphreys, and a host of others are out of places, 
and any one of them would have considered this 
position, that came to me unsought, as a special 
providence. I cannot understand it, but it seems 
to me that it would be presumption for me to 
throw away the work that was brought to my hand 
without any effort on my part. Other men’s fam- 
ilies are suffering for the necessities of life in this 


38 


REST OR UNREST. 


crisis. Why should not mine suffer also, if I refuse 
to do what my hand finds to do ? 

“ What does Paul say to Timothy? ‘ If any pro- 
vide not for his own, and especially for those of his 
own house, he hath denied the faith and is worse 
than an infidel.’ God knows I have no wish to 
trample on his word and violate a law that is writ- 
ten in our very nature as well as in his book and 
the statute books of this nation.” 

Mrs. Weldon was silenced but ijiot convinced. 
She would, for herself, have taken the risk of star- 
vation as the alternative. But her husband, with 
the responsibility of the support of his family rest- 
ing upon him, could not grasp the faith that would 
have shrunk from no sacrifice had there been only 
himself to suffer the consequences. 

. Could he yet make up his mind t6 trust? There 
was only until the morrow to decide. What would 
the decision be? 

The baby awakened from his long nap, and now 
was soon jumping and crowing in his father’s 
arms. 

Mr. Weldon was a man of strong affections, and 
his love for those who were nearest and dearest to 
him and dependent upon his labor was deep and 
abiding. 

The thought of a home without tl\e Sabbath or a 
home without bread — either was painful beyond ex- 
pression, and it was between these two points that 
his resolution seemed called to oscillate. 

On the following day he made one more effort 


ROCKLAND FURNACE. 


39 


to break the snare which seemed woven around 
him. 

“Are you not liable to indictment for violation 
of the Sunday laws?” he asked of Mr. Arnold, 
grasping at the thought as a drowning man might 
catch at a straw. 

“Not the slightest,” responded that gentleman, 
laughing. “A fellow over at Trueville, who was 
overmuch righteous — beg your pardon — tried that 
dodge on our business one year, but the court de- 
cided that our work was a work of necessity, and 
as such no violation of the law. President Ball, of 
the T. U. and W. X. Railroad, with a number of 
other wealthy and influential men, hold stock in 
Rockland Furnace, you see, and Judge Jameson as 
good as told the jury what their verdict must be. 
He was running for office at the time, and had 
hosts of friends and supporters among the iron and 
railroad men. No, that question is settled. The 
best men of the State are for us, and we can make 
it worth their while to continue their present atti- 
tude.” 

“ I understand,” answered Mr. Weldon, his face 
showing the indignant scorn which he felt. “ I un- 
derstand. The case was stated clearly a long while 
ago. ‘ They hunt every man his brother with a 
net. That they may do evil with both hands ear- 
nestly, the prince ’asketh and the judge asketh for a 
reward ; and the great man, he uttereth his mis- 
chievous desire so they wrap it up.’ ” 

Mr. Arnold smiled. 


40 


REST OR UNREST. 


“ Is that the way you put it?” he asked, good- 
humoredly. “ Well, self-preservation is the first 
law of nature, you know.” 

Mr. Weldon said no more. He felt that words 
were useless. 

A few days later Mr. Arnold left Rockland, 
assured in his own mind, as he told himself, that 
“ he had secured a first-class manager for the fur- 
nace, albeit a trifle cranky.” 

The work began under the new overseer on the 
following week. He soon learned that the charac- 
ter which Mr. Arnold had given the men was no 
fabrication. They manifestly felt no interest, no 
enthusiasm for any thing connected with the busi- 
ness, unless, indeed, a trifle for the drawing of their 
wages. They required constant oversight, and the 
most vigilant alertness could not prevent the daily 
routine from assuming the proportion of a modicum 
of labor mixed with a large amount of idleness. 

The overseers of the different departments of 
the labor were found, with a few exceptions, to 
need oversight as much as the men. There seemed 
to be a tacit understanding that no man was bound 
to work if he could by any possibility shirk his 
task; doing their work only on compulsion, neglect- 
ing all that was possible, and yielding like “ dumb, 
driven cattle ” when they must. 

A more arduous position than that which Mr. 
Weldon had assumed can scarcely be imagined. 
From early morning until late at night there was 
no rest for mind or body. His meals were taken 


ROCKLAND FURNACE. 


41 


hastily, his mind meanwhile preoccupied. Scores 
of business gnats tormenting him incessantly gave 
him no peace even in the bosom of his family. 
Morning and evening prayers were at an end, and 
the quiet Sabbaths, which were once so welcome, 
were only days to be remembered among the bless- 
ings of the past. 


42 


REST OR UNREST. 


CHAPTER IY. 


THE SUNDAY PETITION 


Ye shall fear every man his 77iother a7id his father , and keep 
77iy Sabbaths : I a7n the Lord your God. — Lev. 19 . 3 . 



SMOND YOUNG sat at his desk revolving in 


his mind the vexed question of what he ought 


to do. He could not feel that his duty called him 
to forsake the friends of his boyhood and youth, 
and yet he shrank from the position which he 
occupied as a partaker in the sin and heir-apparent 
to the wealth of Sabbath gains. 

As he looked from the window in his reverie he 
noticed a man pass and repass, and then a 
moment later pass again. There was something 
familiar in the face and figure which he noticed 
even in the preoccupation of his present mood. 

But the man passed out of sight, and his 
thoughts went unreservedly to the problem, 
“ What ought I to do ? What can I do ? ” 

Then came the face again, eclipsing every thing 
else as it appeared close ht his side in the open 
window, a face that he had once seen daily, a face 
that had usually worn an expression of perplexity 
and struggle. The look was still there, intensified. 
Where had he seen it before ? If his mind had not 
been preoccupied he would have remembered. 

“ Mr. Young, I believe,” said a voice that 


THE SUNDAY PETITION 


43 


sounded as if uncertain of the distance which it 
must travel ; the voice that accompanies defective 
hearing. There was a hand put up to catch the 
reply that should follow. 

Osmond bowed. It was of no use to hesitate 
longer. 

“ I remember your face well, but you have the 
advantage of me as to names,” he said. 

Another effort to catch the words, a drawing 
nearer, a deepening of the baffled look in the eyes, 
a tardy admission that he had not heard, then the 
mists of memory cleared and Osmond exclaimed, 

“ McLane ! I am glad to meet you again ! Come 
in.” 

In the excitment of the discovery he spoke in a 
louder tone, and when he opened the door his 
visitor met him and the two shook hands. 

There was a little talk of college days, of mutual 
acquaintances and other things in common, and 
then the caller said, 

“ I came here to-day to ask you to use your 
influence with Mr. Ball as president of the T. U. 
and W. X. railroad. Action has been taken look- 
ing to the abolishing of Sunday trains on some of 
the other roads, and I have a petition signed by 
a large number that we shall be allowed the day 
also. 

“We ask it in the ’name of law and order, of 
morality, and the highest good of all. The presi- 
dent of the corporation has the reputation of being 
difficult to approach, and, knowing your relation to 


44 


REST OR UNREST . 


him, I have taken the liberty of remembering your 
willingness to oblige in the past.” 

As he said these words a smile struggled with the 
shadow on his face. It was reflected on the coun- 
tenance of the other. 

“ I wish I had ever done any thing to entitle me 
to such a remembrance,” he said. 

There was a little vacancy in the smile and half 
bow that responded to this disclaimer. 

44 I shall be gratified to do what you ask,” said 
Osmond, raising his voice to the capacity for mak- 
ing himself heard quite across the street. 

44 Thank you,” answered his companion. “ It 
may do much good and prevent much harm. 
There is a meeting to-night at No. 9 M Street, 
near the East station. Come out if you can. You 
will find that the leaders in the movement are law- 
abiding, faithful men, and I think you may safely 
.assure the president that the granting of our peti- 
tion will in the end work no loss to the company. 

44 The truth that the day of rest is positively 
necessary in order to the best performance of any 
work attempted has become hackneyed. The 
Sunday question is stirring up the people of differ- 
ent European countries. The closing of shops in 
Germany is becoming general. In Austria Sunday 
rest in the mines has been proposed. In Russia 
cessation from labor is observed, and in Turkey a 
society has taken action • for promulgating an 
observance of the day. 

“ Clearly, no one can accuse us of taking prece- 


THE SUNDAY PETITION. 


45 


dence in the matter; and even in our own country 
the laws have gone before us in regard to this 
question. Please make the matter as plain and 
plausible as possible to Mr. Ball.” 

“ I assure you of my heartiest co-operation in 
any effort to do away with Sabbath desecration,” 
responded Osmond in his unnecessarily high key, 
dnd other ears than those for which the words 
were intended heard the assurance. 

Mr. Ball’s face took on a new expression as he 
passed near the door. It was partly amusement, 
partly scorn, and partly a baffled look which it 
sometimes wore. 

The visitor soon left, and Osmond sought his 
uncle and presented the subject as skillfully as he 
was able. The position which he held as the pres- 
ent beneficiary and prospective heir of his uncle’s 
wealth made him shrink from any line of conduct 
that could carry with it the slightest suggestion of 
ingratitude or lack of appreciation of the kindness 
bestowed; but he would do his duty in this matter, 
although he well knew that in so doing he should 
incur his uncle’s anger. 

Mr. Ball’s manner as he laid down his paper 
seemed inauspicious, but Osmond was no coward. 

“ Uncle Norman,” he began, coming directly to 
the subject, “a petition is being circulated among 
the employes of the railroad asking for a cessation 
of labor on Sundays. The plan has already been 
adopted by other roads, and ” — he added a little 
hurriedly as his uncle’s face grew darker — “ if gener- 


46 


REST OR UNREST. 


ally adopted there will be little or no loss even in a 
money point of view. Would it not be well to call 
a meeting of the directors and consider the sub- 
ject ? ” 

Osmond Young had a cool business head, and 
his uncle often consulted with him when points 
requiring careful consideration were to be decided. 
But this last suggestion was not well received. 

The man who was usually so calm and courteous 
was suddenly transformed into his other character. 

“ Preposterous ! ” he exclaimed. “ There is no 
need for a meeting. I will not yield one iota to 
this demand. Some meddling fanatic or other has 
put it into their heads. 'They are a worthless set 
at best. Sunday indeed ! What care they for Sun- 
day, or any other day ? I tell you it is sheer laziness, 
and a spirit of insubordination that ought to be put 
down ! ” And Mr. Ball brought his cane to the floor 
with a blow that made the windows rattle. 

Osmond thought sadly of the tyrannical Egyptian 
monarch who argued in like manner when the chil- 
dren of Israel made a similar plea: “ Ye are idle, ye 
are idle, therefore ye say : Let us go and do sacrifice 
to the Lord.” 

“ Who was that who called a while ago ?” asked 
Mr. Ball, severely. 

4< His name is McLane ; he is an old college 
acquaintance,” answered Osmond. Then he added, 
“ He always seemed to be in some way under a 
cloud — partly owing to deafness contracted by en- 
forced exposure when a mere child — and is so still 


THE SUN DA V PETITION . 


47 


to some extent ; but I think you would like him for 
his sound common sense and adherence to his prin- 
ciples through thick and thin. He entered the 
sophomore class at the same time I did, but his 
means failed, I believe, and he left college soon 
after.” 

“ Who is at the head of this petition business ? ” 
was the next question. 

“ Well, uncle, I shouldn’t wonder if he were the 
same man,” admitted Osmond, smiling, despite his 
uncle’s beetling frowns. 

“ Believe me, sir,” he added seriously, “ he is a 
man who is worth listening to. McLane is no 
hatcher of sedition. You will hardly find a better 
man, a better workman, judging from his sterling 
good sense, or a better leader of other workmen. 
I wish you would consider the wishes of these 
men,” Osmond went on earnestly. “ Many of them 
have long been faithful employes.” 

“I presume they have been regularly paid for their 
services,” interrupted Mr. Ball stiffly. 

“ No doubt, sir ; but then you know there is a 
mutual dependence existing between capital and 
labor. I am assured that the leaders in this move- 
ment have no thought of any thing like a strike, but 
it may come to that in the future if the petition is 
ignored.” 

“ Let it come, then ! ” answered Mr. Ball. 

“ But, Uncle Norman, leaving out of question the 
principle of right, is it the part of wisdom to take 
such an attitude as that ?” questioned his nephew. 


48 


REST OR UNREST. 


“ Looking for no higher motive, is it policy to deny 
your men that which other roads are granting ? 
With the railroad property which you hold, virtually 
at the mercy of these men, is it not well to be at 
least reasonably conciliating ?” 

The tea-bell put an end to the conversation, and 
Mr. Ball took his place at the table with no outward 
sign that his equanimity had been disturbed ; but 
he was saying to himself that if the matter came to 
the worst he would not yield one inch to the 
aggressors. Again, like Pharaoh, he set his face 
against reason, and determined that he would posi- 
tively refuse to comply with the petition uncon- 
ditionally. 

The agitation of the question of Sunday trains 
has called forth from railroad men opinions in favor 
of the observance of the day which cannot be con- 
troverted. 

President Young, of the Louisville, New Albany 
and Chicago Railway Company, says in an article in 
the Railway Age: 

“It cannot be denied that railroads have led in 
violation of the Sabbath. The two classes most 
prominent in it have been railroads and saloons. 

“ The railways were the pioneers, and the saloons 
only followed close behind, clamoring for the same 
rights in disregard of the Sabbath. It is not pleas- 
ant thus to associate the two, but no observing man 
can fail to see the truth of the charge. . . . 

“ Without a day of rest men can enjoy neither 
health nor freedom. The Sabbath is essential to 


THE SUNDAY -PETITION. 


49 


religion, and religion is essential to freedom, good 
government and prosperity. 

“ History contains no example of a free, progress- 
ive people that did not recognize God. Blot out 
the Sabbath in this country, and with it the influ- 
ences of religion, for a period of fifty years, and the 
face of our social, moral and political condition 
would be entirely changed. 

“ The testimony of all railroad men in this dis- 
cussion has shown that a day of relaxation or rest 
is essential to the proper and faithful discharge of 
the duties which devolve upon railway employes ; 
and if this were not so human experience fully 
establishes this principle.” 

Mr. H. B. Ledyard, of the Michigan Central, 
says : 

“ There is no question as to the desirability of 
prohibiting Sunday work on railways. The law of 
nature, to say nothing of the higher law, requires 
that men should have rest one day in seven. Is 
there any reason why a railroad conductor or engin- 
eer is not entitled to his rest as much as.a merchant 
or manufacturer? . . . 

“ I do not believe at the end of the year the loss 
in traffic would be appreciable were all Sunday 
work stopped ; and in the better morals of the men 
the railway companies would be abundantly paid 
for doing away with work on this day.” 

Many others ' have expressed similar opinions. 
But President Ball thought otherwise. He claimed 
that trains must be run on Sunday to meet the 
4 


50 


REST OR UNREST. 


demands of the public ; that Sunday mails were a 
necessity, and that those who were opposed to Sun- 
day traveling were, as a rule, “ hare-brained fanat- 
ics ” — a favorite name with some for those who 
think differently from themselves. 

However, the decision of the question of Sunday 
or no Sunday was not in this instance to be 
accepted without another effort to alter the decree. 
A few days later Mr. McLane, who had long been 
an engineer on the road controlled by President 
Ball, called again, this time to talk with the official 
himself, at Osmond’s suggestion. 

“ Say to him all that you have said to me,” the 
latter had said. “ Tell him all your reasons for 
wanting your Sundays. It may influence him to 
favor the cause in the end. But expect to find him 
unreasonable, and possibly insulting and violent. 
He has strange, passionate moods in which he is 
totally unlike himself at other times.” But when 
the caller was announced Mr. Ball appeared to be 
in one of his most tranquil humors. 

“Mr. McLane? Yes, I have heard of you as one 
of the most trustworthy engineers on the B. Line. 
What can I do for you ? ” he asked. 

Mr. McLane seated himself on the proffered chair, 
after producing the petition with some awkward- 
ness and embarrassment of manner. 

Had the president forgotten his connection with 
the Sunday plea, or had he an idea of what was 
coming and was he quietly gathering his forces for 
a final blow ? 


THE SUNDAY PETITION . 


51 


“ Humph!” he ejaculated, as he ran his eye 
along the lines ; “ Are you the leader of this 
strike ? ” 

The visitor compressed his lips for a moment be- 
fore answering. 

“ I do not think there is any strike on foot as 
yet,” he said ; “ there have been some meetings and 
a few inflammatory speeches, but a reasonable com- 
promise may be effected by giving the working-men 
the rest-day that belongs to them by right.” 

Mr. Ball rose up in white-heat anger and glared 
at his companion for a moment as though he med- 
itated springing upon him. 

“ Compromise ! ” he exclaimed at last. “ What do 
you mean, sir ? I know no such word in my business 
vocabulary.” 

McLane controlled himself. 

“ Mr. Ball,” he said, “ we are all willing to work. 
We have need to work. Many of us have wives 
and children dependent on our labor ; but we owe 
something to them besides the bread we furnish 
them. We owe something to ourselves besides the 
mere provision for our bodily necessities. We have 
natural affection and are subject to home influences 
as well as other men. We would work with better 
hearts and readier hands if we were released from 
this interminable treadmill system, and could rest 
and spend one day in seven with our families.” 

“ Gush and grandiloquence ! ” sneered Mr. Ball. 
“ From what mischief-breeding orator did you get 
your speech ? Refining influences ! O yes, I have 


52 


REST OR UNREST. 


heard it all before — moonshine manufactured ready 
to hand by sentimental fanatics. 

“ In the first place,” he continued, seemingly lost 
to the last vestige of reason and consideration, 
“ Such fellows as you have no business with wives 
and children if they are to interfere with your legit- 
imate duties. You engage to do the work we give 
you, and you would better do it or give place to 
those who will.” 

The elder man’s face was now fairly aflame with 
passion, but that of the younger grew paler and 
paler, though his eyes were dangerously like those 
of his companion. 

“ Mr. Ball,” he said, with enforced steadiness of 
voice, “ the family man is the best employ^ you can 
get, and you know it. He is bound to society by 
stronger ties than if he were alone. He* can not 
afford to be an idler and a vagrant, nor yet a revo- 
lutionist and an outlaw; but if you compel him to 
break the laws of God and man you wrong yourself 
as well as him.” 

“ I compel no man to break the laws ! ” answered 
Mr. Ball, bringing his fist down on the table with a 
bang. i 

The visitor looked at him steadily. 

“You know as well as I do that every State in 
the Union has a law forbidding Sunday labor,” he 
said ; “ and you know,” he went on rapidly, “ that 
running trains and steam-boats and furnaces is as 
truly a violation of the law as the operating of ma- 
chine shops, flouring mills, or other manufactories.” 


THE SUNDA Y PETITION. 


53 


“ Do you mean to insult me in my own house?” 
demanded Mr. Ball. 

“ I mean no offense, sir,” replied the visitor. “ It 
is contrary to my principles to wantonly insult any 
man, however far he may be above or below me ; 
but facts are facts, and suppressing or ignoring them 
does not lessen their value.” 

“ I am not averse to a trifle more in the way of 
compensation,” began Mr. Ball, with a sudden 
change in his voice and manner, the result of a 
change in his feelings which he himself would have 

been at a loss to account for. 

• • 

“ Sir ? ” questioned the engineer, with his hand to 
his ear. 

Mr. Ball repeated his statement.’ 

“ We do not complain of the wages,” was an- 
swered ; “ at least those who inaugurated the move- 
ment do not. It is the day we want. It has no 
equivalent in money.” 

It was all in vain. The president was unyielding, 
and the visitor took his leave. 


54 


REST OR UNREST, \ 


CHAPTER Y. 


THE SABBATH AND MAN, 


When will the new moon be gone, that we may sell corn ? And 
the Sabbath , that we may set forth wheat ? — Amos 8. 5. 

Thus saith the Lord , Take heed to yourselves, and bear no 
burden on the Sabbath day, nor bring it in by the gates 
of f erusalem. . . . But if ye will not hearken unto me to 
hallow the Sabbath day ; . . . then will I kindle a fire in 
the gates thereof, and it shall devour the palaces of Jeru- 
salem, and it shall not be quenched \ — Jer. 17. 21, 27. 



HEN Edna Varney’s visitor had gone she 


sat for some time on the door-step, looking 


across the stream at the willow tree waving its ever 
brightening branches. 

But she was not thinking of the tree, except as it 
unconsciously suggested “ The Evergreen Shore,” 
a song which Mrs. Weldon had once taught her 
class and which Edna’s mother had loved to hear 
her sing. She sat thus for some time, with her chin 
in the palm of her hand and her eyes fixed absently 
on the first bit of green in the landscape before 
her; but suddenly she rose hastily and went into 
the little back room where she slept. 

Sitting down on the side of the bed, for chair 
there was none, she took out the money, and, 
spreading it out on her lap, she placed the notes 
carefully one over another, returned them to the 
pocket-book, and strapped it compactly, as it was 


THE SABBATH AND MAN. 


55 


when she had found it. She slipped it into her 
pocket again and searched about for a pin with 
which to fasten the opening. 

A stamping on the floor of the outer room told 
her that her father had returned, and she went out, 
trying to look very unconscious of the burden in 
her pocket and upon her mind. 

“ Lazy girl ! ” he said, as she made her appear- 
ance ; “ idleness is the parent of poverty.” 

The miserable man always seemed to lose sight 
of the fact that there were plenty of proverbs that 
would have applied pertinently to his own case. 

“See here, Edna,” he continued, “ I want you to 
be brisk and get up a good supper. Rube is coming, 
and I want some oysters, crackers and cakes, and 
something good to drink. Here is a dollar,” throw- 
ing it down on the table with a ring and an air of 
great liberality. “ Now move spry for once in your 
life. If Rube is pleased I may give you a dime to 
buy you some candy.” 

Edna undutifully drew dowm the corners of her 
mouth in a mocking grimace as she turned to the 
cupboard to get the brown pitcher. 

“Ten cents indeed!” she thought scornfully, as 
she remembered what she had in her pocket. 

“ Or Rube himself may make you a handsome 
present when he conies into his fortune,” her father 
added in a mysterious way. “ Get every thing at 
Slocum’s. He keeps better liquor than Flowers 
does,” he called after her as she went out. As usual, 
she made no reply, either by word or sign. 


56 


REST OR UNREST. 


On reaching the establishment of Mr. Slocum, 
who carried on a flourishing Sunday business, she 
started for the back door, which was the customary 
mode of entrance on that day. The wife of the 
proprietor was sweeping near the front door. 

“Come in — come right in,” she said. “ You need 
not take the trouble to go round. His Honor 
Mayor Jameson decided last week in favor of Tom 
Lansing against some meddling chap who raised a 
row about Tom’s selling a poor thirsty fellow a 
drink on Sunday. The day of these canting mar- 
plots is about over in the city. The idea of making 
a man shut up shop for a whole day every week 
and sit around with his hands folded waiting for 
Monday to come that he may go on with his honest 
work, and maybe the provisions spoiling on his 
hands ! I tell you His Honor read the law to them. 
He said the supplying of food and drink was a 
necessity, and he quoted Scripture just beautiful. 
What was it he said, Slocum?” asked the woman, 
turning to her husband. 

“ ‘ The Sabbath was made for man, and not man 
for the Sabbath,’ ” replied Mr. Slocum, glibly, with 
a little air of superior wisdom. 

“ That means that Sunday belongs to men, and 
women too, of course, just as the other days do,” 
he added, with grave conclusiveness. 

“What will you have, Edna?” 

While the grocer was filling the orders which she 
gave him Edna’s thoughts were busy with the text 
which she had just heard. The truths which she 


THE SABBA TH AND MAN. 


57 


had learned had taken such deep root that they 
could not be utterly lost even among the evil sur- 
roundings of her daily life. She had been taught 
that Sunday labor was a sin, both by her mother 
and Mrs. Weldon ; yet here was Mr. Slocum an- 
nouncing that it was not, on the authority of the 
chief magistrate of the city, and also on that of the 
Bible. 

She whispered the words over softly : “ The 
Sabbath was made for man, and not man for the 
Sabbath.” 

That many have misunderstood or misapplied 
the above oft-quoted passage is plain to any 
thoughtful mind on considering the circumstances 
of this utterance of our Saviour. It has been used 
to attempt to show that he destroyed or annulled 
the law of his Father, notwithstanding his own 
statement: “ I came not to destroy, but to fulfill.” 
Let us consider for a moment the occasions which 
called forth those words and also the memorable 
saying ; “ It is lawful to do well on the Sabbath 
days.” 

The Jews, with their empty observance of 
innumerable laws and requirements not laid down 
in the word of God, find fault with Jesus’s disciples 
for merely satisfying their hunger on the Sabbath. 
And, again, they play the spy upon the conduct of 
our Saviour himself, to see whether he would heal 
on the Sabbath day, that they might find an accu- 
sation against him. 

The Master’s defense either of himself or his 


58 


REST OR UNREST. 


followers affords no possible sanction for the 
abolishment of the observance of the Sabbath, no 
repeal of the commandment, “ Remember the Sab- 
bath day, to keep it holy.” The disciples were fol- 
lowing the Master. They were daily learning of 
him and devoting their time to his service. They 
» were in training for the high and holy mission to 
which he should appoint them, and were as truly 
doing the work of God as were the priests in the 
temple ministrations. Yea, more ; inasmuch as Jesus 
was greater than the temple, the rites and cere- 
monies of which were but symbolical of him and 
his work. 

The supply of manna was no longer given, and it 
was meet and proper that hunger should be 
appeased and the strength of the body sustained. 

The sanctioning of thus meeting the pressing 
necessities of nature, the healing of the sick, or 
other work of necessity or mercy, ca*h in no way 
smooth the road for the deliberate, willful, habitual 
ignoring of the Sabbath. 

The Sabbath was made for man ; for man’s high- 
est good, and not man for the Sabbath, as the 
absurd and interminable requirements and pro- 
hibitions of the Jewish Talmud would seem to sug- 
gest. 

The disputation of the two great rabbis, Sham- 
mai and Hillel, as to whether it was lawful to eat 
an egg that had been laid on the Sabbath, and the 
final negative decision, is an example of the silly, 
puerile rules with which it was sought to burden 


THE SABBATH AND MAN 


59 


the people. They were mere traditions of men, 
and not the law of God. 

It was of these self-righteous teachers that our 
Saviour said, “ In vain do they worship me, teach- 
ing for doctrines the commandments of men.” 

The weight of the “ burdens grievous to be 
borne,” which he accuses them of binding and lay- 
ing upon men’s shoulders, may be conjectured 
when we reflect that the Mischna contains thirty- 
nine divisions with sub-divisions upon Sabbath 
observance alone. It was from these empty 
observances of men, and not from the command- 
ments of God, that the Master wished to free his 
followers. His life affords no shadow of license for 
the secularizing of the Lord’s day. We are told 
enough to satisfy any honest inquirer as to how he 
spent the sacred hours. 

If he made a Sabbath day’s journey it was 
doubtless to attend the services of his Father’s 
house or to perform some God-like work of mercy. 

We are told by Matthew that after defending 
his disciples against the charge brought by the 
Pharisees “ he went into their synagogue.” It 
was then that he healed the man with the withered 
hand. Again, “he was teaching in one of the 
synagogues on the Sabbath ” (Luke 13, 10), when he 
healed the woman who had been bowed down for 
eighteen years.” 

Many of the Master’s miracles of healing were 
performed on the holy day, thus teaching the 
propriety of works of necessity and mercy ; but we 


60 


REST OR UNREST. 


are distinctly taught that he observed the day as 
one of worship also. 

“ And he came to Nazareth, where he had been 
brought up ; and as his custom was, he went into 
the synagogue on the Sabbath day.” 

“ As his custom was." 

My reader, can \ve find a better model by which 
to formulate our customs ? Can we better employ 
the day than by going up to his house to worship 
God and to learn of him out of his holy word ? 

Doubtless many of those who met the Master at 
the house of worship and were cured of their 
infirmities went there knowing his custom, and 
hoping thus to meet with him. 

They were not disappointed, and souls as well 
as bodies were touched by the great Physician. 
Let us not be slow to learn the lesson which we are 
taught : we too may meet him in the house set 
apart for his service. He has promised that where 
even two or three are met together in his name 
he will be in the midst of them. 

While Edna Varney was waiting for her pur- 
chases a passing policeman said half seriously, half 
jestingly to Mrs. Slocum, 

“Ha! You are violating the Sunday law, are 
you ? ” 

“ No, sir ! ” answered the woman, stoutly. 
“ These things don’t come under the Sunday law 
at all. They are among the necessities, I tell you. 
If you want to make arrests you can easily find 
them as are more worthy of arrest. Look at the 


THE SABBATH AND MAN \ 


61 


concert-halls. Look at the theaters and the 
musyums.” 

“ Ah well,” laughed the officer, “ your logic is 
better than your pronunciation. Give us a glass 
of beer and a couple of your best cigars. Accord- 
ing to some, the ten commandments are not nearly 
so binding as they were once. They were meant 
for the Jews; so I’ll bring the majesty of the law 
to bear on old Issachar over there if he dares to 
open his jewelry and old clo’ store on Sunday 
again, the beggarly old Israelite.” 

Mrs. Slocum laughed heartily as at that moment 
the Jew came out of his house with a small package 
under his arm. His stooping figure, and his long 
white beard flowing over his breast, made him 
appear a very true specimen of the dispersed and 
despised nation of whom it had long before been 
written ; “ The house of Israel rebelled against me 
in the wilderness ; . . . and my Sabbath they great- 
ly polluted : then I said, I would pour out my fury 
upon them, .’ . . to consume them.” (Ezek2o: 13.) 

“ Now for it,” said the policeman, grimly, as he 
wiped his mouth and pocketed his cigar. 

As the old man crossed the street he saw the 
officer, and quickened his steps in a pitifully futile 
effort to avoid him. 

“ Hey, old fellow,” was the policeman’s saluta- 
tion, “ violating the Sunday law again? ”' 

“ Not so,” answered the Jew, pausing, as he found 
it useless to try to escape ; “it is an errand of 
mercy.” 


62 


REST OR UNREST. 


“ So so ! That is what you all say — you Jews ! ” 
answered the officer, mockingly. “ I tell you it is 
just as easy for people to buy what they need on 
Saturday, which is not a holy day," he added 
emphatically, as if to challenge difference of opin- 
ion. 

► 

But the old man cast his eyes upon the ground 
and only said : 

“ But I have nothing for sale in this bundle.’' 

“What have you, then?” asked the policeman. 
The Jew hesitated and the other repeated his 
question sharply. 

“ I am only carrying home to the parent the 
clothing of a little child who was drowned,” was the 
answer. 

“ Let me see,” demanded the officer, more from a 
wish to annoy the Jew than for any other reason. 

The bundle was obediently unrolled and there 
appeared indeed the clothes of a little child, the tiny 
garments of muslin and lace once snowy white but 
now yellow, the fairy-like pink shoes and diminutive 
socks — a sight that might have made a mother’s full 
heart overflow with sorrow. 

“ Now, how do I know but you have stolen the 
clothing and the child too?” questioned the officer 
keenly. 

The Jew raised his disengaged hand as if in hor- 
ror at the thought, and his aged face flushed hotly. 

“ Holy Moses forbid ! ” he exclaimed. 

“ Much you care about what Moses forbids,” 
answered his companion, tauntingly. “ It is my 


THE SABBATH AND MAN. 


63 


duty to investigate this matter. When and where 
was the inquest held ? ” 

A flitting smile passed over the grave face of the 
Jew. 

“ My son,” he answered, “ it was held more than 
twenty years ago in a house which is no longer to 
be found in the city. So I am told,” he added ; 
“ the facts came to me but recently.” 

“ I don’t more than half believe what you are 
saying,” replied the policeman, with the insolence 
which many have deemed fitting toward the erring 
and despised people who have long been a monu- 
ment to the truth of revelation. 

When the cruel, malignant despisers and rejecters 
of our Saviour shouted, “ His blood be on us and 
on our children ” they little knew how terribly the 
horrible imprecation would be realized in the reit- 
erated fulfillment of the prophecies of the burning 
of the holy city, with her palaces and temple, in a 
fire that should not be quenched. 

It is well for us to notice that the prophet, in 
warning the Jews in view of the destruction of Jeru- 
salem preceding the Babylonish captivity, makes 
special mention of the sin of Sabbath-breaking, tell- 
ing them that they would bring more wrath upon 
Israel by profaning the Sabbath. 

In our Saviour’s time, as we have seen, the scribes 
and Pharisees made great pretense of Sabbath observ- 
ance ; but he who read their hearts saw “ hypocrisy 
and iniquity ” under an outward appearance of 
righteousness. 


64 


REST OR UNREST. 


God does not accept mere seeming for reality, 
and those who rejected Christ and his teachings 
could not be true children of his Father, but, on the 
contrary, filled up the measure of the wickedness of 
those who before had murdered the prophets and 
persecuted those that were sent unto them. 

Not many years after they had invoked God’s 
wrath in their condemnation of his Son, their be- 
loved city fell again into the hands of their enemies. 

The destruction of the temple by -the Roman 
soldiers in .spite of the known wishes and strenuous 
efforts of Titus, their commander, in spite of the 
frantic resistance of the Jews themselves in behalf 
of the house to which they trusted for safety, all 
point unmistakably to the hand of that God who 
works and no man can hinder. 

The enemies of the Bible have sometimes tried to 
believe that certain prophecies of events were 
written after the events took place. But it has been 
left for profane history to record the wonderfully 
minute fulfillment of prophecies regarding the de- 
struction of Jerusalem by the Romans and the 
terrible events which attended it. Tacitus, Sue- 
tonius and Josephus, each in his narration of events 
records the fulfillment of strange things which were 
foretold in the Book of books. Josephus, the great 
Jewish historian, says: “If the misfortunes of all 
nations from the beginning of the world were com- 
pared with those which befell the Jews they would 
appear far less in comparison.” 

“ No other city ever suffered such things, as no 


THE SABBATH AND MAN. 


65 


other generation from the beginning of the world 
was ever more fruitful in wickedness.” 

Is it not well that we inquire concerning threaten- 
ings of punishment, and take heed to our ways as a 
nation ? We have been made to know by many and 
various disasters what great and terrible things are 
in the hand of the Lord of all the earth. Unpre- 
cedented calamities have fallen again and again 
upon different sections of our land ; and can we 
plead our innocence ? 

We have been wont to style ours a Christian land, 
but statements have been made, by persons unques- 
tioned as authority, that are well calculated to make 
us pause and ask ourselves if the name is not grow- 
ing into a misnomer. 

Rev. Dr. Henry M. Scudder, for years a Christian 
missionary in India, has said : “ For unmixed 

wickedness and utter moral depravity no city of Asia 
can equal Chicago and New York ; and this con- 
tinent has a class of villains lower and meaner than 
the lowest and meanest in India or China.” 

Are there not other cities in our land that might 
well rank not far behind the two mentioned ? 

Rev. Joseph Cook has stated that “ out of every 
10,000 deaths in England 7 are murders. Out of 
every 10,000 in the United States 21 are murders. 
The proportion of murders to deaths is not exceeded 
anywhere on earth except in Italy an'd Spain.” He 
also names among the bad signs of the times “ the 
bondage in cities to the corrupt class, Mormonism, 

Sabbath desecration and the increasing destitution 
5 


66 


REST OR UNREST. 


of Sabbath religious culture, encroaching on the 
Sabbath by secular journalism, railways and the 
whisky ring.” 

What a fearfully humiliating record for a nation 
that has been so signally blest as ours has been ! 
Has not the freedom of our boasted land of liberty 
degenerated largely into the licentiousness of crime ? 
Is it not time for humiliation, confession and refor- 
mation \ 

But to return to old Issachar and the police- 
man. 

The officer kept the old man standing with his 
package open for some time, apparently enjoying 
the annoyance which he was causing. At last he 
said : “ Well, get along with you. If you are tell- 
ing me a lie it will come to light sooner or later.” 
And lighting one of his cigars he strolled off. 

Edna Varney had just at this moment reached 
the spot, and stood watching the Jew as he rolled 
the poor little garments together again. 

One of the tiny faded pink slippers fell out of the 
parcel upon the pavement. The girl set down her 
pitcher, and, picking it up, stood looking at it with 
sad, curious eyes. 

The old man waited patiently until she put it 
into his hand, and then wrapped the package and 
tied it carefully. 

“ Let me help you with your parcels,” he said, as 
the two went on together. 

“ Is your father at home ? ” he asked, presently. 
Edna answered in the affirmative, thinking wonder- 


THE SABBATH AND MAN. 


67 


ingly meanwhile of what she had heard her com- 
panion tell the policeman. 

When the girl’s miserable home was reached her 
father stood at the door, switch, in hand, as he 
had told himself, “ to make that girl step a little 
faster when I am in a hurry.” 

At sight of the Jew, however, he seemed to for- 
get his grievance to some extent, and contented 
himself with a sharp reprimand and a short proverb. 
Then, turning to Issachar, he said brusquely: “ Well, 
old fellow, have you come to a wiser state of mind ? ” 

“ I have come to offer a compromise,” answered 
the Jew. 

“ Out with it, then ! ” said the other, impatiently. 

“ I have brought them with me, ” replied 
Issachar, “ and I offer them at a great reduction.”. 
He named a sum that made Edna think of the con- 
tents of her pocket. She was moving rapidly about 
the room, preparing the repast of which her long- 
absent brother was to partake ; but she heard dis- 
tinctly what was being said outside. 

She wondered if her father was negotiating for 
jewelry to set up her brother in the business by 
which he was to make the great fortune of which 
he had spoken. 

“ Do you call that a great reduction, you grasp- 
ing old Hebrew? ” asked Griffith Varney, angrily. 
“ You know I cannot afford to pay any such sum ! ” 

“ Nor can I afford to take less,” answered the 

Jew. 

“ Afford ! ” hissed the other furiously. “ A man 


68 


REST OR UNREST. 


in sore need places something of great value in your 
hands for as much money as will meet his pressing 
wants, and when he is able to redeem it you talk of 
what you ‘ cannot afford.’ ” 

“ It was not a pawn,” replied the Jew, calmly. 
“ The transaction was a sale of goods for which you 
received a fair equivalent.” 

Griffith Varney grew deadly pale — except his 
nose — with passion, and hurled forth abusive 
epithets, among which were “ robber ” and “ vam- 
pire.” 

“ Blame me not too severely,” said the old man 
meekly. “ I met with a serious loss even to-day.” 

“Yes, that is the old story,” sneered the infuriated 
man ; “ always poor, always losing, damaging de- 
pressions in the market, and what not. You poor 
Jews! Bah! You deserve to have your property 
confiscated and divided among us honest, hard-work- 
ing Christian people.” 

Was it any wonder that a slight shade of scorn 
passed over the old man’s face at this self-applica- 
tion of a name to which his companion was as little 
entitled as himself? But it did not linger long. 

“ I verily met with a loss to-day,” he continued, 
“ even my pocket-book, containing a large sum of 
money. I lost it somewhere on Pine Street. I 
know not what shall save me from ruin unless I can 
obtain a fitting price for the child’s clothes either 
from you or the other party.” 

Edna was carrying some dishes from the cup- 
board to the table, and all at once her hands seemed 


THE SABBATH AND MAN \ 69 

» 

to lose their strength. The crockery fell with a 
• crash to the floor, and her father came in and boxed 
her ears soundly for the breakage. Then lie went 
away with Issachar,and it was late before he returned. 
The time crept on and on and the feast waited in 
vain. Rube did not come, and the father ate and 
drank gluttonously and then threw himself on his 
bed with his boots on, and Edna closed the house 
and crept away to her own little room. 

She sat down on the side of the bed to think. 
Her mind was busy with what she had seen and 
, heard. The sight of the baby’s shoe had awakened 
softening memories. 

“ It would just about have fitted our baby when 
he died,” she murmured to herself. ‘“When he 
went to heaven,’ mother always said. I suppose 
she is there too, now. I wonder if he is still a baby, 
or if he will be grown up when I shall see him 
again ? ” 

At the last words she started and put her hand 
into her pocket. She knew now who had lost the 
money, and if she kept it she was certainly the same 
as a thief. 

Memories of her mother and of Mrs. Weldon 
troubled her. She moved her shoulders impatiently, 
and began to swing her foot as she sat perched on 
the bed, as if trying to shake off something an- 
noying. 

“ Father called him a thief,” she said to herself 
presently. “ He might have stolen the money him- 
self, and if he did it is mine as much as his.” 


70 


REST' OR UNREST. 


This consideration was not entirely satisfactory, 
however. Except for a wish for some argument to 
justify “her in keeping the money she would not 
have entertained for a moment the idea that there 
was any justice in her father’s angry criminations. 
Terrible as it is to record the fact, she almost or 
quite hated her father, and old Issachar had always 
a kind word for her at least ; and so, choosing be- 
tween the two, she would much sooner have trusted 
the dog of a Jew,” as her father had called him. 
But her hand was still in her pocket clasping the 
treasure, and the thought of giving it up grew 
harder and harder. 

“ I didn’t steal it ! ” she said to herself, defiantly, 
as if some one had accused her. “ Besides, that 
policeman said the commandments were meant only 
for the Jews, and I reckon he knows. It must be so, 
or the mayor would certainly know and not allow 
the people to work on Sunday, for that is among 
the commandments just as much as the stealing 
and killing!” she concluded, triumphantly. 

So Edna went to sleep with her hand still grasp- 
ing the pocket-book, and dreamed that the Jew 
stole it from her while she slept, and that he and 
her father were quarreling over it in the adjoining 
room. 


SUNDA V EVENING IN BLANKTON. 


VI 


CHAPTER YI. 

SUNDAY EVENING IN THE CITY OF BLANKTON. 

Ye shall keep my Sabbath and reverence my sanctuary. I 
am the Lord . — Leviticus 19. 30. 

This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice 
and be glad in it . — Psalm 118. 24. 

A NOTHER Sabbath had been given to the city 
whose authorities cared nothing for its duties 
and blessings. Its hours had been worse than 
squandered by many in the community, and its 
abused privileges were set down by the recording 
angel against the great day when the books shall 
be opened. It was now almost past. The sun had 
set and the bells were calling to evening prayer. 
The houses which had been dedicated to the serv- 
ice of God were open to all who would come ; but, 
alas ! the temples of the evil one were open also. 

“ Osmond, you would better stay indoors to- 
night,” said Mrs. Ball, with motherly solicitude. 
“You have been quite hoarse again to-day, and I 
cannot allow you to expose yourself.” 

Osmond was about to assure his aunt that his 
cold was nothing serious, that the evening was fine, 
and that he did not want to miss the sermon ; but 
something in the expression of Mrs. Ball’s face 
caused him to keep silent. At the first opportunity 
she said to him : 


REST OR UNREST. 


“It would really be imprudent, Osmond. Your 
father’s last illness was in its incipiency thought to 
be but a slight cold attended with hoarseness. I 
cannot bear the thought of any risk,” she said, 
tenderly, “ besides,” she added, wistfully, “ it may 
be that I can persuade your uncle to go into church 
with me if I am quite alone.” 

Osmond acquiesced in the arrangement, although 
he did not feel much hope. 

“ He never says an unkind word of the Sabbath 
or the Church nowadays,” she went on with a iittle 
quiver in her sweet, womanly tones. 

“ I will gladly do as you wish, airnt,” was Os- 
mond’s answer. 

So the husband and wife set out for the church, 
Mrs. Ball insisting upon walking, as the distance 
was not great. 

Clinging to his arm, as they made their way 
among the crowds that surged back and forth, she 
yet did not feel to-night as though she were the 
helpless, dependent one and he the strong pro- 
tector, but rather as if their positions had been 
reversed. 

She looked about her and thought how like 
Blankton was to Paris on Sunday night, with its 
brilliantly-lighted streets, gay with throngs of 
pleasure-seekers flocking to the theaters, museums, 
variety shows and other resorts, the bare thought 
of which gave^Mrs. Ball a thrill of pain and horror. 

Once she stopped to accost an evil-faced girl who 
was carrying a little child in her arms, and asked to 


SUNDAY EVENING IN BLANK TON. 


73 


see the baby’s face. It was a fair, blue-eyed little 
girl, its childish, innocent countenance in marked 
contrast to that of the creature who carried it. 

The lady paused but for a moment to pat its 
cheek and turned away with a sigh. Her husband 
had waited patiently for her, a softened expression 
on his face meanwhile. He knew that to her 
mother heart a little child that had passed out of 
their lives on a Sunday more than a score of years 
before was still a little child, and that she scanned 
the countenance of every one she met. He knew, 
too, that he was responsible for the shadow that 
rested on her heart and brain. 

“ You should have allowed me to call the carriage 
for you,” he said, kindly pressing her arm closer to 
his side and drawing her wrap around her. 

Mrs. Ball seemed preoccupied and did not speak 
for some time. 

“Norman,” she said, after awhile, “Doctor Abner 
Mansfield preaches to-night. They say he is a great 
pulpit orator.” 

Her husband displayed considerable interest in 
the intelligence. 

“ His presence is a surprise, is it not?” he asked. 

“ A surprise to nearly every one, I believe. It 
was not generally known that he was on this side of 
the Atlantic. I doubt not the address will be an 
intellectual treat,” she went on eagerly. 

“ I have no doubt of it,” was answered heartily. 

“Would you i?ot like to hear it?” she asked as 
they reached the church door. 


74 


REST OR UNREST. 


“ Very much; but unfortunately I have a pressing 
engagement. Zed will be waiting for you with the 
carriage when the service is over.” So he con- 
signed her to the care of an usher and turned back. 

“ A pressing engagement ! ” It was the stereo- 
typed excuse which he invariably offered for not 
entering the house of God. He tried to show a 
kindly interest in what interested his wife. He 
gave liberally to the support of the cause she loved, 
but she knew it was only for her sake. It was for 
her sake that he sometimes went to the threshold 
of the church ; but not even for her sake could he 
be induced to enter. There were no flings at the 
Gospel, the Church or the Sabbath in his wife’s 
presence, yet there was always the “ pressing 
engagement.” It could not but sound like a sub- 
terfuge even to Mrs. Ball, and yet she trusted her 
husband in no small degree. She felt that he had 
no part in any thing that was in itself immoral ; 
that he stood aloof from that which is unseemly 
and impure. 

It was only the thought that he was out of the 
Kingdom which troubled her. Could she have 
marked the course of his footsteps on this and 
other nights like this her confidence might have 
wavered. They turned toward haunts where only 
the evil congregate. They . entered notorious 
gambling-houses which have well earned the name 
which belongs to the realm of darkness and despair. 
They sought out low theaters where vice walks 
upon the stage unveiled, and the gay resorts where 


SUNDAY EVENING IN BLANK TON. 


75 

men, and women, too, are lured to death-, moral and 
physical, by way of the sparkling glass, lascivious 
music and the mazes of the dance. 

And this was Sabbath night in a Christian city ! 
A city far famed for its culture and advancement. 
Halls of literature, art and science reared their walls 
in its midst ; and its churches pointed their spires 
heavenward ; and yet the open, flagrant violation 
of the laws of God and man went on with fearless 
freedom. The treasuries of the city were filled 
with the gains of the traffic in strong drink. The 
prisons were simply places of refuge for those 
whose hands were stained with blood, and the 
Lord’s day was made a carnival of wickedness, a 
Saturnalia of all evil things, while the rulers seemed 
not only to wink at, but to glory in, the shame of 
their municipality. 

Did it require a prophetic ear to hear in the midst 
of all this : “ Put ye in the sickle, for the harvest is 
ripe : come, get you down ; for the press is full, 
the fats overflow ; for their wickedness is great ?” 

A gay crowd assembled in a second-class eating- 
house were indulging in loud-voiced talk and laugh- 
ter. The tables were thronged and the waiters 
were busy. Young girls, each with a wine-glass 
beside her plate, were growing merrier and less 
womanly as the feast progressed and the empty 
glasses were refilled. 

A young man, seemingly a trifle superior to most 
of his companions, left his glass untouched as he 
glanced with keen-eyed watchfulness about him. 


VO 


REST OR UNREST. 


Yet he was not better but only more wary than his 
friends. His tones were more subdued and his 
words perhaps a little better chosen. He seemed 
scarcely to hear the chatter of his companion, a 
girl with bold bright eyes that were growing 
brighter with the stimulant which she used unspar- 
ingly. 

A sudden hush fell upon most of the company 
at the table where they were seated. 

“ There he is again ! ” spoke one of the young 
men in 3. subdued voice. “ I spot him for a 
detective sneak. What do you say, Elmore ? ” 

“ Who ? That man ? ” with a glance in the direc- 
tion indicated by his neighbor’s eyes. “ Pshaw ! you 
are out of your reckoning. That is Ball, the great 
railroad Ball.” 

“ Humph ! That is Ball, is it ? ” responded the 
other in the same low tone. “ Well, can you 
explain why, on Sunday nights in particular, he is 
perpetually rolling in and out of beer-gardens, 
saloons, restaurants, theaters, concert-rooms and 
almost every other place that might or might not 
be mentioned ? If I have seen that man once come 
in and look over a crowd and go out again I have 
seen him do it a hundred times.” 

The quiet young man who was seated with his 
back to the subject of his companions’ remarks rose 
hastily in the early part of the conversation and, 
addressing a few words to the girl beside him, went 
out by a side entrance. 

Mr. Ball scanned the crowd keenly for a little while 


SUNDAY EVENING IN BLANK TON. 17 

and then withdrew as he had come. Soon after his 
departure the absent member of the party returned. 
Taking his seat quietly he resumed his oysters as 
if nothing unusual had occurred. 

“ I want to know, Ballard,” said the one who had 
been addressed as Elmore, “ is it you who sets the 
Ball a rolling every Sunday night? ” 

“ What do you mean ? ” was asked in a matter-of- 
fact way. 

“ It is clear,” said another, “ that the man is look- 
ing for somebody, and whether you are the one or 
not you seem to take some trouble to keep out of 
his way.” 

“ Has he a marriageable daughter ? ” asked the 
black-eyed girl with a little pout. 

“ Now, Nell, you are always conjecturing some- 
thing unreasonable,” was answered in the same 
quiet tone. 

“ Then has he a son whom you have beguiled 
into dark and crooked ways and thus relieved of his 
surplus shekels? ” asked Elmore, laughing. 

“ He may have a son,” answered the other with a 
half smile, as he looked into his wine-glass and then 
set it down untasted. “ At all events,” he went on, 
“ I have done the old man no harm, and whenever 
it suits me to see him I shall do so, whether it suits 
him then or not.” 

“ He is not an old man,” said one of the company. 

“ I don’t know his exact age,” replied the one 
who had been called Ballard ; “ but I know he is 
old enough to be your father or mine.” 


78 


REST OR UNREST. 

Then he changed the subject, and the conversa- 
tion veered round to the play-house and the popu- 
lar new actress at B Street Theater. 

“ She isn’t a bit pretty, and she paints and 
powders outrageously,” commented Nell. 

“ O, you are a brunette ! ’’ laughed a blonde 
beauty, wickedly. “ I think she is lovely. I have 
been in an agony all the week because it was 

reported that the B Street Theater was to be 

suppressed for immoral acting. Immoral ! Pouf ! ” 
she concluded, with a toss of her yellow hair. 

Enough ! This party, with their visit to the play- 
house and their wine supper afterward, their “ fool- 
ish talking and jesting,” their utter forgetfulness 
of the the sacred character of the day and of Him 
who appointed it, were but as the small dust of the 
balance compared with the multitudes who hasted 
to do evil on that Sabbath night. 

Profanity and ribaldry smote the ears of the wor- 
shipers on their way to and from the house of God. 
They were heard by the magistrate and the judge, 
who cared for none of these things. The violation 
of the laws of God and man was witnessed by the 
journalist who had strenuously advocated the open- 
ing of places of public amusement on Sunday “for 
the benefit of the toiling masses who know no other 
holiday ; ” describing the “ prohibiting of harmless 
entertainments and recreations ” as “ Puritanical 
outrages.” 

The result of the practical carrying out of these 
“ broader views ” could not but be patent to the 


SUNDAY EVENING IN BLANK TON . 


70 


eyes of the “ advanced thinker,” whose clever pas- 
quinades had been hurled mercilessly at those whom 
he was pleased to style “ Pharisaical Sabbatarians.” 

It had been as the letting out of water. 

' The idea of the opening of the park and the 
museum for the refreshment and entertainment of 
the toilers on all other days was doubtless indorsed 
by many who were actuated by motives of philan- 
thropy. 

But the corporation sanctioning open doors for 
public places of resort cannot consistently prohibit 
the opening of private establishments for the same 
purposes. And so the breach widens. Beginning 
with the library, the museum, the sacred concert- 
room, it goes on to the opera, the theater, and the 
drinking and gambling houses. 

Would not those claiming to be philanthropists, 
and earnest seekers of the highest good of their fel- 
lows, do well to pause in their efforts to eliminate 
the Sabbath from the life of our nation ? Do they 
not, even leaving out of account the soul’s neces- 
sities, often mistake the wants and needs of 
humanity ? 

Do they not sometimes strive with sympathetic 
groans to remove from the necks of others a yoke 
which exists only in their own imagination, and in 
the end accomplish little except to give an added 
license to a class which sorely needs restraint in- 
stead ? 

There was at one time much clamor in England 
concerning the necessity of opening the public libra- 


80 


REST OR UNREST. 


ries on Sunday. The people had a right to the 
uninterrupted flow of knowledge, it was urged. 
So the demand was granted. And behold ! the 
thirst for books was not nearly so great as had 
been conjectured. The public failed to appreciate 
what had been wrought out for them. They did 
not avail themselves of the privilege, and the 
experiment was partially given up. 

The “ bondage ” of the Sabbath is not by any 
means as great as is supposed by those whose 
sympathy and aid must needs flow out in this mat- 
ter to those who need it least. 

A writer under the caption, “ Scotland’s dreary 
Sabbaths,” says, “ The reproach of narrowness, 
austerity and gloom is one that has often been 
leveled at the religious life of Scotland,” and gives 
the testimony of Dr. King, of Canada, upon the 
subject : 

“ Those of us who have been born and brought up 
by the banks of the Tweed or the Forth, or under 
the shadow of the Grampians, have been pitied for 
the dreary Sabbaths we are supposed to have 
spent, and for the innocent pleasures from which 
we were debarred. We who have nothing but 
gratitude to cherish for the influences which were 
around our childhood and youth can only wonder 
at the commiseration so unnecessarily bestowed.” 

Such testimony might be rendered truthfully by 
thousands in this and other lands. Again, those 
who have no scruples as to the violation of the 
sacred character of the Sabbath often see farther 


SUNDA Y E VENING IN BLANK TON. 


81 


as to the evil effects to be expected from its annul- 
ment than those who are working for their eman- 
cipation from its “ bondage/’ 

It is said that Mr. Mark Lemon, formerly editor 
of the London Punch , was at one time very fond of 
ridiculing those who upheld the sanctity of the 
Sabbath, and when remonstrated with by a friend 
ingenuously made a confession of facts which, as he 
admitted, had impressed his mind as a strong argu- 
ment for the day. 

He stated that he once got up a petition in 
favor of the opening of the British Museum on 
Sunday, and sent it into his printing-office for sig- 
natures. His foreman returned with the state- 
ment that unless Mr. Lemon pressed the matter 
the men would rather not sign it. 

The editor in much astonishment asked for an 
explanation, saying that it was in their interest 
that the question was agitated. Note the reply. 

“ Well, sir, the men think that would not be the 
end of it ; it would only be the thin end of the 
wedge, and that before long workshops, offices and 
all kinds of places as well as museums would be 
open on Sundays too. 

The city clocks told out the time until the 
sacred hours were spent, and Mr. Ball sought his 
home weary in mind and body. Monday morning 
usually found him pale and nerveless. 

His nephew, who knew something of how his 
Sundays evenings were spent, sometimes thought 
of him as one who was doomed to witness unwill- 
6 


82 


REST OR UNREST. 


ingly the most revolting features of the sin which 
he had advocated. 

What was the moving cause which led this man 
the same wretched rounds week after week ? Mov- 
ing restlessly in and out, he came and went like a 
specter at the feast or the dance, impelled by some 
unknown power. 

Osmond thought sometimes of the legend of the 
Wandering Jew, and wondered if his uncle were 
condemned to a like penance. 


DISINHERITED. 


83 


CHAPTER YII. 


DISINHERITED. 


And ye, in anywise keep yourselves from the accursed thing, 
lest ye make yourselves accursed. , . . — Joshua 6. 18. 



HE responsibility of Sabbath trains and other 


jL phases of labor on that day, and the degree of 
guilt involved in the partaking of the gains which 
accrue, is one that has not in times past received 
the candid, serious attention which it deserves. So 
true is this that when here and there a man has 
refused to participate in the Sunday traffic, or to 
hold stock in corporations that disregard the day, 
he has made himself conspicuous by the act. 

The name of the late William E. Dodge is one 
that stands illumined, high on the records of this 
age and nation, for unyielding fidelity to the prin- 
ciples which he held on this subject. There were 
not wanting those who ridiculed his position, and 
called his honest adherence to his convictions “ fa- 
naticism ” and “ Puritanism ; ” yet it may be noted 
that some of these same critics have since quoted 
his example as a reproach to those who have not 
done likewise while professing to regard the day as 
sacred. 

But, looking at the subject from the stand-point 
of those who deny the holy character of the day 


84 


REST OR UNREST. 


which God has sanctified, the difficulty still remains. 
The advocates of a “civilization” which must be 
allowed to ignore the Sabbath are plainly amenable 
to the charge of inconsistency themselves. The 
philanthropists who would unloose the shackles of 
humanity in this matter are philanthropists only in 
name. If it is granted that the public liberty 
demands the running of trains on Sunday, with sun- 
dry other evidences of “ enlightened freedom,” 
what becomes of the conductors, clerks, engineers, 
brakemen and other employes? Have they no 
rights in common with other men ? Have they no 
liberties ? 

It may be said that these men are not coerced 
into the employ of corporations demanding Sunday 
labor. In one sense they are not ; in another they 
frequently are, by the pressure of circumstances. 

But the fact remains that those who are em- 
ployed in the running of Sunday trains, or other 
work on that day, are compelled to labor without 
the resting-time to which they have a right as in- 
alienable as that of the wealthy president, director 
or stockholder, who may spend the day as he 
chooses. 

The slavery of such a system as this calls loudly 
for emancipation ; calls for a truer philanthropy 
than that which demands needless, extra labor, 
unremitting toil on the part of some that others 
may have extra privileges — a philanthropy which 
talks of the rights of men while it tramples them 
under its feet ! 


DISINHERITED . 


85 


A writer has truthfully said, in looking at the 
subject from a non-religious point of view : “ It is 
only vicious vagrants and rich idlers who would 
suffer from the cessation of every-day life on Sun- 
days, and their distress should call for no sympathy. 
For all others Sunday is a most valuable and salu- 
tary institution.” 

But how many who really believe these things to 
be true rule their conduct accordingly ? If it be 
unjust and wrong to compel men or even beasts to 
toil three hundred and sixty-five days in the year 
without relaxation or rest, can it be otherwise than 
wrong to profit by this work ? 

Here the question of the accountability of stock- 
holders asserts itself and refuses to be set aside. 

The responsibility for the wrong, where wrong 
was admitted, has generally been put upon the 
shoulders of railway officials. But it has been con- 
clusively shown by those who have studied the 
question that the blame should be equally shared 
by the presidents, directors and owners of stock in 
the various companies. And the deduction is inev- 
itable, that those who accumulate wealth through 
these operations are heaping up riches that are 
worse than poverty. 

A consideration of these things had long occu- 
pied the mind of Osmond Young. He had, on 
leaving college, entered into business with his uncle, 
and had been made a stockholder in the different 
moneyed interests which were to Mr. Ball the light 
of his life. 


86 


REST OR UNREST, \ 


To say that Osmond was insensible to the advan- 
tages offered him by the wealth and liberality of 
his generous relative would be untrue ; but there 
were other considerations which influenced him 
more strongly when he entered upon the position 
which he now occupied. 

As an orphan he might have been homeless and 
friendless, but he had, on the contrary, been treated 
by his uncle and aunt as if he were their own son, 
and his gratitude was sincere. He had agreed to 
that upon which he knew that his uncle had set his 
heart. 

Besides, he had hoped against hope that his uncle 
might in time be won over to a different view of 
the responsibilities, duties and privileges of a man 
of his wealth and power. But all his efforts in this 
direction had been unavailing, and now he had 
made up his mind that it was his duty to withdraw 
from all connection with transactions which his con- 
science could not approve. 

He had, I say, fully decided to do this, and yet 
he avoided an interview which would have given, 
him the opportunity of presenting the subject to 
his uncle and stating his intentions in regard to the 
matter. 

It was not that he shrank from the act of renun- 
ciation involved. He had fought that battle and 
gained a complete victory. His thoughts were not 
now of himself, but of his uncle and of the gentle, 
sad-faced woman whom he called aunt, but who had 
been to him all the mother whom he had ever known. 


DISINHERITED. 


87 


Can it be wondered that he shrank from ap- 
proaching a subject which involved such grave 
issues as lasting displeasure on the part of his 
uncle, and banishment from the home of his boy- 
hood ? 

The opportunity was passing, and still he hesi- 
tated ; but to-night he was not to choose. 

A servant appeared at the door with a summons 
from Mr. Ball to his office. Osmond found his 
uncle busy with some papers, and, sitting down to 
await his leisure, he began to consider how he 
should introduce the subject of his withdrawal from 
the agreement existing between them. 

“ Osmond, my boy,” spoke his uncle, breaking 
into his thoughts, “ I want you to look after the 
iron interest immediately. The indications point 
to a speedy depression, and you must see Arnold at 
once. 

You will take the train to-night for Lucknow 
Furnace and then run down to Rockland by the first 
train to-morrow. Tell Arnold — " 

“ Pardon me, Uncle Norman," interrupted his 
nephew, deprecatingly, “ I’ll willingly do all I can 
in the matter on Monday, but to-morrow is Sun- 
day, you know." 

Mr. Ball made his companion’s position more 
embarrassing by looking at him in silence for some 
time. Osmond felt as if he was being measured 
and weighed and found lacking to his earthly friend, 
and also to his God. He fervently wished that he 
had taken the stand which his conscience demanded 


88 REST OR UNREST. 

when the proposition to enter the business was 
first made to him. It would have been easier then 
than now. 

His eyes fell before his uncle’s piercing gaze. He 
felt indeed like a culprit. 

“ Osmond,” said the older man, at length, “ I 
have made your position in this business as easy as 
possible. I have respected your — ” superstitions, 
he was about to say, but changed the word to the 
less offensive one of “ opinions in this matter of 
Sunday as far as possible.” 

Then Osmond found words. 

“ Uncle Norman,” he began, “you have treated 
me with far more kindness and consideration than 
I ever could deserve, and I ought never to have 
accepted your noble generosity unless I had been 
ready to comply with your wishes unreservedly. I 
have been thinking for a long time of telling you 
this and resigning my position. Believe me, I do 
appreciate your kindness, and I have tried to per- 
suade myself that I could prove my grateful appre- 
ciation without disloyalty to my Maker — ” 

“ That you could serve both — God and mam- 
mon?” queried Mr. Ball, with bitter sarcasm. 

Osmond bowed assent and went on as if uninter- 
rupted. “ But I have been outraging my conscience ; 
I have been trampling on my higher nature ; and I 
renounce all.” 

“ Your grateful appreciation with the rest ? ” con- 
mented Mr. Ball. 

“ No ; believe me, no ! ” protested the young man. 


DISINHERITED. 


89 


His companion rose and began to walk the floor 
hurriedly, his face dark with passion. 

“ Uncle Norman, if you will consent to stop this 
Sabbath desecration in all your business interests 
I’ll try to prove my gratitude by working for you as 
a common laborer, if need be, and .helping you in 
every way I can,” said Osmond as his uncle passed 
his chair. 

“ It is easy to proffer services under circumstances 
impossible to conceive,” Mr. Ball answered, sneer- 
ingly. “ Besides, you talk as if I were king of the 
universe. I do not hold all power in these matters, 
even if I could indorse your Sunday whim — which 
I cannot,” he added, forcibly. 

“ I know that you are president both of the 
railroad company and of the iron corporation ; that 
you are a large stockholder, and have much power 
and influence,” replied Osmond. 

His uncle vouchsafed no reply, but continued his 
walk for some time. Then he came back and sat 
down opposite to his nephew. 

“ Come, Osmond,” he said, in a conciliatory tone, 
“ this is an extreme case. You can regard it as the 
sheep that has fallen into the pit on the Sabbath day. 
There may be thousands of dollars involved in a 
few hours’ delay ; and I know of no one to whom I 
can intrust the business with the same confidence 
which I repose in you. If the depression comes 
before our stock is disposed of we shall realize little 
more than enough to clear expenses in case of both 
furnaces.” 


90 


REST OR UNREST 


“ Then, uncle, your sheep is not really in the pit ; 
you are only aware that the pit is there, and fear 
that he will fall in before you can make him another 
man’s sheep,” replied Osmond, with the frank, 
boyish smile which his uncle could seldom with- 
stand. 

But to-night he looked past the face opposite him, 
at the hands of the clock drawing nearer and nearer 
to the time for the evening train. 

“Well, well, arrange the parable to suit your- 
self,” he said, with studied lightness of tone and 
manner, “ but be sure and tell Arnold to head off 
the matter without loss of time.” 

The seconds as they were ticked off seemed 
hours to the young man, as his thoughts went back 
to his sheltered happy childhood, crowded with 
every earthly good that wealth and kindness could 
bestow, to his youth, with all its privileges provided 
by the hand that now rested on the table near his 
own. Was it right that he should refuse in this 
one instance to do what seemed so small a thing for 
one who had done so much for him? Would not 
his seeming ingratitude bring reproach upon the 
cause which he wished to honor? Might he not be 
excusable before Heaven on the ground that this 
was an extreme case? But then was not the very 
extremity of the case another argument against his 
carrying out the commission required ? The words, 
“ Whether it be right in the sight of God to hearken 
unto you more than unto God, judge ye,” came 
flashing into his mind. 


DISINHERITED. 


91 


His Christian life and character seemed balanced 
for good or ill upon the result of this conflict. 

At last he said in a tone that sounded even to 
himself like a stranger’s voice : 

“ I cannot do this thing, Uncle Norman ! ” 

Mr. Ball rose from his chair pale with anger 
His wrath a few minutes before had been nothing to 
that which now possessed him. 

“ Then leave my house forever, ingrate ! ” he said, 
pointing to the door. “ If this is Christianity, if this 
is gratitude, I have had enough of it.” 

Osmond was scarcely less pale than his uncle. 
He started toward the door as if about to execute 
the order, but turning back he said in a tone that 
% was almost humble, “ You will give me time to pre- 
pare Aunt Lizzie for my departure? You will tol- 
erate my presence for a few days?” 

Mr. Ball bowed haughtily, and thus they parted. 


92 


REST OR UNREST. 


CHAPTER YIII. 

WEAVING A NET. 

He that getteth riches , and not by right , shall leave them in 
the midst of his days. — Jer. 17. 1 1. 

Woe to him that increaseth that which is not his! how 
long ? — Hab. 2. 6. 

I T could not have been far from morning when 
Edna Varney, still dreaming of the money 
w.hich she had found, and the troubles it entailed, 
was startled from her sleep to learn that there 
was indeed the sound of angry voices in the ad- 
joining room. 

Her first waking thought was that her dream 
had been fulfilled, but upon examination she 
found that the treasure was safe in her pocket. 
And then she heard Rube’s voice saying boister- 
ously, 

“ If. you had not been such an old whisky guz- 
zler you would never have pawned the strongest 
proof which you had in your possession, and if you 
had not been drunk at the time you would have 
had sense enough not to reveal its value. Like as 
not you gave away the old man’s name, also.” 

“ I tell you I did not ! ” was answered in the 
same angry tone. 

“ You will turn the papers over to some pawn- 
broker next,” the young man went on, “ and then 


WEAVING A NET. 


93 


you will find that the game is up for us all. You 
would better give them to me for safe keeping. 
Here, take another glass to clear your brain, and 
then take a little time and think the matter over.” 

He poured out the liquor, filling two glasses, and 
the elder man drained his at a single draught. 
Rube, however, put his tumbler to his lips, and, 
simply tasting the contents, set it down beside his 
plate. A change was soon perceptible in Griffith 
Varney. 

“ Now, Ruby,” he began, in a wheedling tone, 
“ if you will only let me have enough money to 
redeem these things that I pawned in my necessity, 
in my sore necessity, remember, we shall soon 
have every thing ship-shape.” 

“ But we can save that money, don’t you see ? 
don’t you see ? ” repeated the young man very con- 
fidently and in a conciliatory tone. “The old gen- 
tleman has swallowed the bait of the anonymous 
letters, I can see plainly. He dogs me so closely 
that I have been obliged to dodge him because I 
was not quite ready. I saw him not two hours 
ago ; but I hadn’t the proofs in my pocket, don’t 
you see ? ’’ 

“ But how do I know,” whined Griffith Varney, 
“ that you will do the fair thing by me? ” 

“Do you look for such black ingratitude?” 
asked Rube. “ Do you suppose for a moment that 
when I am restored to my family, and made to 
revel in wealth and luxury, I could go back on 
my foster father? the one who had nurtured me 


04 


REST OR UNREST. 


through my tender childhood, whose loving care 
had made my boyhood bright with happiness ? ” 

He laughed an evil laugh, the sarcasm of which 
did not escape Edna as she peeped through a 
crevice in the wall. 

“ Nonsense,” he said a moment after. “ Of 
course I’ll do the square thing by you and Edna,” 
he added in a softer tone. “ How is the child ? I 
haven’t seen her for an age.” 

“ She’s well,” was answered, “ but rather a poor 
dependence as a house-keeper. If I had money I 
could find some one who would make things more 
comfortable for me now in my old age.” 

The young man’s face took on an expression of 
contempt for the weak, selfish creature before him, 
aged, not with years, but dissipation ; but all uncon- 
sciously he maundered on, 

“ With all the careful training I have given 
Edna she doesn’t prove thrifty and efficient. She 
takes after her mother.” 

“ Her mother was an angel, who married a being 
of the other type,” answered Rube fiercely, redden- 
ing up to the roots of his hair. 

“ Well, what do you propose to do about this 
business?” he continued, impatiently, without giv- 
ing his companion time to reply. 

“ I don’t see that I can do any thing unless you 
will let me have some money,” answered the other. 
“ My hands are tied. I am in the grasp of that old 
thumbscrew of a pawnbroker. He is as ignorant 
of the real value of the deposit as — well, as Edna 


WEAVING A NET. 


95 


there,” with a backward motion of his thumb 
toward the door of the inner room ; “ but he may 
find out, he may find out in some way, and then 
we are done for. Well,” he continued with what 
he intended for an air of pious resignation, “ I 
have done all I could to bring affairs to a proper 
consummation. My conscience is clear on that 
point.” 

“ I didn’t know that you kept such an article 
about you,” replied his companion, scornfully. “ If 
you want any money from me you must first put 
me in the way to get some. You have never lav- 
ished much of the article on me, I can tell you. It 
is of no use to mince matters. You have been for 
years a selfish sot, caring nothing for those who 
were dependent on you. If you ever had any con- 
science it must have been a long time ago.” 

Griffith Varney sighed, and, wiping his eyes on 
his sleeve, reached out his empty glass. But Rube 
refused to replenish it. 

“ You would better give me those papers before 
you get too drunk to know where to find them,” 
he said. “ I doubt if you know where they are this 
minute,” he challenged. 

“ I tell you I do,” was the reply. 

“ Prove it, then,” answered Rube, with a great 
effort at coolness. His hand, as it rested on the 
table, was shaking with excitement. 

The old man rose from his chair and staggered 
across the room. 

Edna could not see him now, but she doubted not 


90 


REST OR UNREST. 


he was going to the hiding-place which she: had 
discovered on the preceding day. She could only 
watch Rube’s eager face and bright eyes. 

Presently she saw her father pass the door again, 
going to the other side of the room. She thought 
to herself that he seldom became too much intoxi- 
cated to be tantalizing. 

“ Prove it,” repeated Rube, his voice this time 
betraying his eagerness. 

The reeling, disgusting figure took two more turns 
across the room as if, drunk as he was, he knew of 
his companion’s suspense and enjoyed it. At last 
he went back to the table. 

“ I don’t believe I will,” he said, speaking each 
word in a slow, detached way. “ Nobody knows 
where those papers are but me. I put them where 
they are when old Mack gave them tome. I know 
exactly where they are. You must take my word 
for it, Ruby.” 

Rube was fairly pale with anger and disappoint- 
ment, but he made no retort. Leaning his elbow 
on the table and his head on his hand he remained 
silent for some time. 

“ Well, we must see how the money is to be got 
for that pawnbroker,” he said at length. “ Did he 
not give you a ticket ? ” 

“ No, I didn’t get a ticket,” was answered. 

“ What did you say the rascal’s name was ?” Rube 
asked, as if the thought had just occurred to him. 

The older man shut one eye and grinned in a 
hideous, leering manner. 


WEAVING A NET. 


97 


“ I didn’t say,” he answered. “ Ah, Rube, you’re 
real shrewd, and I’m proud to be able to say so ; 
but when you have lived as long as I have in this 
deceitful, tricky world, you will be still more shrewd 
than you are.” 

Rube made no answer, but, catching up his hat, 
went out. Edna crept silently back to bed to 
ponder over what she had heard. She fairly tingled 
for a time to tell Rube all he wished to know. He 
had not always been kind to her when he was at 
home, but he was always away now; and how often 
we find it easier to forgive the absent than the 
present ? Again, she reflected that if the papers 
were so valuable they might be of use to old 
Issachar, and she might thus help him without 
returning to him the money which he had lost. 
Such questionable expedients do wrong-doers some- 
times entertain to avoid doing what they know to 
be right. She did not understand all that had been 
said, but she understood enough to know that she 
shared with her father a secret which he flattered 
himself was wholly his own. 

She would like to be revenged for the blow 
which he had given her last night, and with which 
her ears still rang. But she might not see Rube 
again for months. He lived in a part of the city of 
which she knew nothing, and had not been to the 
old house, which had formerly been his home, for 
many weeks before. This thought made her angry, 
and she concluded that she would deliver the papers 
to the Jew instead. 


98 


REST OR UNREST. 


Such lessons do the evil learn in the schools of 
vice and fraud. 

Rube had not cared enough about her to stay and 
see her. “ But he did speak up for mother,” she 
reflected. 

As for her father, she would love to thwart him 
in this plan which he seemed to have so much at 
heart. 

Besides, the papers might enable Issachar to 
redeem his fallen fortunes, and she would thus in a 
manner repay him for the money which he had lost 
and she had found. 

Could it be that she was the same girl who so 
lately had stood by the riverside watching the lit- 
tle green willow waving in the wind, and had hoped 
that some greenness and brightness might come into 
her life ? 

“ If Rube would only come home again,” had 
been the nearest approach to the happy consumma- 
tion which she could embody in words. 

What she had seen and heard of the late inter- 
view between her father and brother had instinct- 
ively told her that one was quite as unprincipled 
as the other. 

They were trying to do something, she scarcely 
understood what, for the sake of gain, and each 
lacked confidence in the other, not without reason. 
It was all a question of money, money ! 

The words recalled her to herself with a guilty 
start. 

“ But I did not plot and plan to get money which 


WEAVING A NET. 


99 


belonged to some one else,” she said to herself. “I 
was only searching for what I had lost, and it came 
to me ; I would not have stolen it for anything, and 
it may not be the same that Mr. Issachar lost. I 
lost some money the same day, and maybe some- 
body else did also. If I were to take it to him he 
might say it was his whether it was or not, and I 
know he does not need it so badly as I do.” 

Into the midst of her thoughts came the sound 
of heavy knuckles on her door and the words which 
she hated worst of all she knew, because she had 
heard them so often when she was sleepy. 

“ Come, Edna, you will never be healthy, wealthy 
or wise, if you don’t learn to rise a little sooner.” 

She started up and began to put on her old shoes, 
muttering: “ Much he knows about the wealth, or 
the wisdom, either,” remembering how much she 
knew of which her father supposed her to be ignorant. 

When she left her room she found him devouring 
the last remains of the feast which she had prepared 
on yesterday. He went to his work soon after, and 
she was left to prepare a breakfast for herself and 
decide on a course of action. 

She made a cup of coffee, fried a slice of the bacon, 
and completed her meal with a small piece of bread 
left from yesterday’s purchase. 

She hastily cleared away the breakfast things 
and washed the cups and plates, making wry faces 
over the sickening odor that clung to the glasses 
which had been used for the whisky. Hurriedly 
and carelessly making up the disordered beds, she 


100 


REST OR UNREST. 


dashed at the floor with an old stump of a broom, 
and her morning work was done. 

Her father would get his dinner at an eating- 
house near his place of work, and so the day was 
before her. She had wild dreams of going to some 
jewelry-store — not Issachar’s — and buying herself 
half a dozen handsome finger-rings, like some which 
she had seen adorning the hands of a lady with 
greater profusion than good taste. 

She would have liked a beautiful dress, too, but 
that she could not well conceal from her father. 
She longed for quantities of bright and charming 
things, and yet she shrank from the thought of 
spending her money. She had decided to keep it 
from the rightful owner, and the spirit of miserliness 
was already taking hold upon her. 

She bolted the door and again essayed to com- 
pute the amount of her possessions ; but, not being 
a very accurate accountant, the result was far from 
correct. The actual sum was about three hundred 
dollars, but she, in her ignorance, thought it was 
three or four thousand. She reduced it to as small 
a compass as possible and put it back into her poc- 
ket. Then she walked about the room to note the 
effect of the very perceptible lump on the side of 
her scant dress. 

“It will never do,” she said in an audible tone, 
for, being so much alone, she had fallen into the 
habit of speaking her thoughts aloud. “ Some pry- 
ing body will be sure to ask me what I have in my 
pocket.” 


WEAVING A NET. 


101 


She looked around again for some place of con- 
cealment. She must fetch a bucket of water, and 
there was no telling whom she might encounter. 
She thought of placing the pocket-book under her 
pillow again, but she could not fasten the door from 
the outside, and some one might come in while she 
was down at the river. It must be in a safer place 
than that. 

“ I might hide it with the papers until I come 
back,” she said, and then, the next moment, as if 
answering a proposition made by another person, 
“ I will do no such a thing. I might fall and break 
my leg coming up the bank, and then father would 
get it ! ” 

Do you see what a burden her wealth had become 
to her in the short time which had elapsed since she 
had found it ? Such is often the case, especially 
with ill-gotten gains. 

Edna’s eye fell upon the rough hearth, and she 
thought of a cavity underneath in which her father 
had used to keep sweet potatoes for seed ; but the 
idea of hiding the money there was also finally re- 
jected. At last she started as if struck with a new 
idea, and, going to the back of the room, she brought 
her shabby straw hat, and taking out the pocket-book 
put it into the crown and then crammed it down on 
her head securely. 

She nodded once or twice to the little cracked 
mirror that hung by the door, and then taking 
up her pail, set out. She had crossed the street 
and was about half-way down the bank, when, look- 


102 


REST OR UNREST. 


ing across at the little tree, she noticed its green 
boughs swaying and waving violently in the breeze 
that blew up the river. 

She stopped suddenly under the big elm which 
was just putting out its leaves, and, setting down 
her bucket, turned back to the house. 

“ My hat blew off in the river once,” she muttered 
to herself, “ and I’ll run no such risk as that,” shak- 
ing her head knowingly. 

When she reached the house she stood in the 
middle of the room considering for some time, and 
then took off her hat. The newly-acquired burden 
fell with a thump to the floor. Picking it up, she 
placed it again in the crown of the hat and hung 
it upon its accustomed nail. When she returned 
to the elm by the riverside, there was no bucket to 
be seen. She looked up and down the bank, but 
no one was in sight. 

What puzzled the girl completely was the fact 
that she could see in all directions for a greater dis- 
tance than it would have been possible for any one 
to have gone during her absence. 

She was not only puzzled, but much distressed 
over the loss of the pail. She had lost one in the 
river once, and her father, being in one of his worst 
moods, had whipped her severely for what, calling 
into requisition one of the hated sayings, he called 
“ willful waste,’’ and which he declared would make 
“ woeful want.” 

Why was it, she asked herself desperately, that 
she must have so much trouble? “ What shall I 


WEAVING A NET. 


103 


do? What shall I do?” she asked herself again 
and again. Then she remembered that she might 
take some of her money and buy a new pail, and 
manufacture some kind of a story to tell her 
father. 

She turned round and looked up to the top of 
the bank and then down at the river again, as if 
searching for some way of escape. She grudged 
even the small sum, from her fortune that would 
save her from a probable punishment. The next 
moment she started at the novel spectacle of the 
lost bucket waving back and forth before her eyes, 
apparently floating in mid air. A laugh from the 
tree above explained the mystery, as she looked up 
and saw Bob Levering hanging from a bough over 
her head, swinging the bucket by a string. 

Edna smiled in spite of her late predicament. 

“ Heigho! that was a good one,” laughed Bob, 
preparing to descend. “ That was a good one, and 
you helped me all you could. Mighty careful you 
are of that precious fine hat of yours ! And you 
must have hung your eyes up with it, for there 
wasn’t an earthly thing to hinder your seeing me, 
and I expected every minute you would look up 
and spoil the fun. But no, you had no more eyes 
than a mole. What were you in such a deep brown 
study about ? ” 

Edna well knew that the burden of her thoughts 
on coming down the bank had been the burden of 
her wealth, and she hesitated. 

“ I believe you are hatching a dynamite plot,” 


104 


REST OR UNREST. 


said Bob, who was a newsboy and sometimes read 
the papers. 

Edna had not the remotest idea of the meaning 
of the words, but she stoutly denied the charge. 

“Well, then, you are planning a bank robbery or 
an iron strike,” said the boy, teasingly. “ Here’s 
your bucket, but if I hear of any safe-blowing or 
anything of the kind I’ll spot you to the first 
policeman I see.” 

“ I’d like to know,” began the girl, reddening, 
“how you know — I mean what makes you think 
I am a thief ; I tell you I am not ! ” 

After Bob had teased her to his heart’s content 
he admitted that he was only in fun, and told Edna 
that “she need not be so touchy and high-strung.” 

Edna was much relieved to hear this, though she 
took her bucket and marched off with a highly 
offended air. She had almost begun to think that 
he knew all about the pocket-book, so true is it 
that “ The wicked flee when no man pursueth.” 


DRESS PARADE AND BASE-BALL. 


105 


CHAPTER IX. 

DRESS PARADE AND BASE-BALL. 

And it came to pass that when Jehndi had read three or four 
leaves , he cut it with the penknife and cast it into the fire 
that was on the hearth , until all the roll was consumed. 
— Jer. 36. 23. 

T EONORA WELDON had bravely tried to 
I 1 make the best of the home that was so unlike 
home to her. She devoted herself to her books, 
her music, her work, and the society of her friends ; 
but the effort to be happy at Rockland Furnace 
was not very successful. 

“ If papa could only be free on Sundays and we 
could have a Sunday-school, that would be some 
comfort. We could pretend that the little old 
school-house is a church,” she would sometimes 
say. 

But her brother grew more and more indifferent 
to his deprivations, except as regarded society and 
“ good times.” That which he witnessed day by 
day was working its baleful influence on the boy in 
spite of all efforts to counteract its effect. 

“ O, I don’t care much any more about church 
or Sunday-school,” he said one day. “ I have got- 
ten out of the way of them. But I would like to 
get out of this little, old, one-horse furnace town 
and see something and somebody once more.” 


106 


REST OR UNREST. 


“ But you would like to keep Sunday, wouldn’t 
you ? ” asked his sister, somewhat shocked. 

“ Well,” answered the young logician, “ I don’t 
think as much about it as I used to do. I used to 
think it was awfully wicked for Uncle A1 to write 
his editorials and keep his compositors at work on 
Sunday, but I have come to the conclusion that 
there isn’t so much harm in it after all. If it is 
such a sin to break the Sabbath, then why is papa 
just compelled to do it when he doesn’t want to?” 

Leonora found this argument unanswerable. 

“ If I could get out of this dull hole and go back 
to Blankton I would be willing to set type for The 
Telescope , if I knew how, every day in the week,” 
continued Allie. 

His sister was about to exclaim against the evil 
of such a course, “ but then,” thought the loyal- 
hearted child, “Uncle A1 has always been good 
and kind ; besides, there is papa, who every Sunday 
must ride about and keep those poor tired men at 
their work, and I know he is a good man and a 
Christian.” 

The little girl was brought face to face with a 
painful problem which has puzzled older heads. 
There is but one solution to questions which per- 
plex and confound human reason — “ Thus saith the 
Lord.” 

The time since Mr. Weldon had contracted to 
superintend Rockland Furnace had seemed pain- 
fully long both to himself and his family. His own 
life was, as he had. told his employer it would be, a 


DRESS PARADE AND BASE- BALL. 


107 


treadmill existence, while to his family, with no in- 
terests outside of their home, and with the unvaried 
monotony around them, the weeks seemed like 
months. 

“ Work and lessons, lessons and work, with sleep 
sandwiched in between them ! I would almost as 
soon not be alive at all,” grumbled Allie day after 
day. 

But there came a change to the brother and sis- 
ter after a time ; no less a change than a return to 
Blankton to attend school. The decision was made 
rather hastily, and in the hurried preparation for 
their departure the young people had not much 
time for serious thought. But the parting, even 
for a short time, was a greater trial to their mother 
than they could have guessed. Their father had 
been called to Blankton on business, and Allie and 
Leonora were to accompany him. 

“ O, we shall have jolly times,” said Allie, in high 
glee. “ Uncle A1 is as good as gold, and his house- 
keeper is as smooth and kind as old Malta there 
when she has her claws in sheath.” 

“ I am afraid you will be lonely, mamma,” said 
Leonora, looking into her mother’s face wistfully. 

“ Do not be troubled about that, dear,” was the 
answer, with a bright smile. “ I shall miss you, of 
course, but I shall get on, knowing that the sepa- 
ration is for your good. I hope you will both en- 
joy yourselves finely ; but do not forget, my children, 
that our own happiness should not be the first aim 
of our existence.” 


108 


REST OR UNREST. 


The good-byes were said and the long, tiresome 
months at Rockland Furnace seemed to belong to 
the far past as the train whirled them nearer and 
nearer to the city. 

There was the trial of parting from their father and 
a little regret and homesickness for awhile, but the 
young and light-hearted soon shake oft such feelings. 

Allie Weldon was not disappointed in his antici- 
pation of good times in the home of his uncle. In- 
deed, he found Blankton more to his taste than 
ever. Not that the city had materially changed 
since he had lived there, but the boy’s tastes had 
been metamorphosed. 

Mrs. Grey, the good-natured house-keeper, petted 
and feasted the children and was a great favorite 
with both; but Allie sometimes shocked his sister’s 
sense of propriety by speaking of her as “ dear old 
Malta Grey,” when they were alone together. In- 
deed, the boy was in great danger of being spoiled, 
as the sequel will show. 

Mr. Summerville was usually very busy, but he 
exerted himself to entertain his young relatives as 
far as his business and their studies permitted. 

They at once resumed their old habit of attend- 
ance at church and Sabbath-school, according to 
their parents’ wishes, and an ordinary observer 
would not have been able to discover any retro- 
gression on the part of these two young people in 
consequence of the associations which had been 
around them for the past months. But their prin- 
ciples were soon to be tested. 


DRESS PARADE AND BASE-BALL. 


109 


One morning, when the church bells were ringing, 
Mr. Summerville announced that he had ordered 
the carriage to take them all to see the soldiers’ 
dress parade. 

“ Why, Uncle Al, this is Sunday ! ” said Leonora. 

Her uncle smiled. 

“ Well, do you suppose the soldiers will find 
themselves unable to march because it is Sun- 
day?” 

“ Of course they can march ; but ought they?” an- 
swered the little girl. 

“ Certainly they ought ; their officers require it,” 
replied Mr. Summerville. 

“ But ought they to require it on Sunday ? ” she 
asked. 

“Unquestionably. The governor has issued an 
order for the State troops to rendezvous in Blank- 
ton with dress parade to-day, and those who refuse 
to obey will be punished.” 

“ But is it right for the governor to do so? ” per- 
sisted the child. 

“ What a cross-questioner you are, Leonora,” said 
her uncle, laughing heartily. “ Of course it is right. 
0'f course it is necessary, since the governor has 
ordered it. Perhaps there is danger of immediate 
invasion from a neighboring State, and preparations 
for repelling the same are unavoidable.” 

“ Now, Uncle Allen, you are joking,” put in his 
nephew ; “ but of course we must see the parade. 
Why, Nora, we may never have another oppor- 
tunity.” 


110 


REST OR UNREST. 


“ I think papa and mamma would say we ought 
to go to church,” answered Leonora, very much 
divided in her mind between a desire to do right 
and a wish to see the soldiers. 

“ I think the church people can get along with- 
out you one Sunday,” said her uncle, “ and it will 
do you more good to go and see this parade than 
to sit in a warm, stuffy church and see and hear 
four or five self-conceited people calling themselves 
a choir show off their supposed musical abilities, 
and then listen to prosy praying and preaching 
until you grow tired and sleepy. Come, now; con- 
fess that you do get tired of it all.’* 

Mr. Summerville put a finger under his niece’s 
chin and compelled her to turn her face up to his. 

“ O, I do grow tired sometimes,” she answered, 
“ but that is not because the preaching and praying 
and singing are not good. Besides, mamma says 
it is not well for us always to have our own way, 
to follow our own wills in every thing.” 

“ That is my theory exactly,” replied Mr. Sum- 
merville, “ and so I am going to carry you off to 
see the soldiers to-day against your will.” 

It must be confessed that to Leonora this was a 
very agreeable adjustment of the affair, and, 
relieved of responsibility in the matter, she will- 
ingly yielded. Her heart did indeed misgive her 
as they were about to set out. 

“ What would mamma say ? ” she whispered to 
her brother. 

“ Why, she would say that we ought to do as 


DRESS PARADE AND BASE-BALL. 


Ill 


Uncle Allen bids us,” answered the boy, confident- 

ly- 

And so, with many others, they drove past the 
church just as the minister was entering, with his 
heart warm with a message to the people from 
Him who, in view of the contradiction and rejection 
which he encountered, once asked of the few who 
followed him, “ Will ye also go away ? ” 

There were vacant seats in the different churches 
of Blankton on that particular Sabbath morning. 
Our Saviour spoke of certain who refused to go 
into the kingdom of heaven themselves and hin- 
dered those who would have entered. There are 
such to be found in our modern “civilization.” 
There are those to-day who, like Jehoiakim of old, 
seem to imagine that by setting aside the law of 
God they can thereby annul or make void its 
requirements. They do not burn the Bible, as did 
the king the roll containing the Lord’s message to 
the Jews; but they ignore its teachings, and some- 
times, alas ! require others to do the same. 

The counsels of Jehovah are never brought to 
naught because of the uplifting of the puny arm of 
man, even though he occupy a high place among 
the children of men. So surely as a new roll was 
written containing the same distasteful prophecy of 
the Babylonish captivity, and so surely as that 
prophecy was afterward fulfilled in all its details, 
just so certainly will*God perform his threatenings 
and his promises toward every nation and every 
individual. 


112 


REST OR UNREST. 


The evening found Leonora Weldon laboring 
under a much greater sense of fatigue than attend- 
ance at church and Sabbath-school had ever 
caused. Yet she had been entertained and pleased. 
She had enjoyed the day, putting aside every 
accusing thought with the reflection that she was 
not responsible for the manner in which she was 
spending the time. 

And did the matter end here? No. The attend- 
ance at dress parade was but the tiny opening in 
the Sabbath dyke protecting those carefully reared 
and consecrated children. A flood was waiting to 
widen and enter the breach. 

The next Sunday diversion was a match game of 
the “Union Base-ball Association,” and crowds 
who would otherwise have gone to church were 
attracted to watch the contest in the fascinating 
“ national game.” 

This feature of Sabbath desecration is assuming 
startling proportions in those cities where the law 
is sufficiently lax to permit its open violation. It 
is much to be lamented that the Lord’s day should 
be selected for this sport by those who are inter- 
ested in the entertaining athletic game. 

Those clubs which choose the Sabbath for their 
playing are following precedents which our nation 
and some of the individual States should remember 
with humiliating regret. 

Secular papers help on the cause of evil by filling 
columns with the details of these Sabbath games. 

Why should the day which God has set apart as 


DRESS PARADE AND BASE- BALL. 


113 


sacred be chosen for this thing? Why, but for the 
reason that there is an increasing rebellion against 
restraint and a growing contempt for all law, 
whether human or divine? 

Sabbath games played by these grown-up boys 
furnish an irrefutable answer to the arguments of 
certain well-meaning people whose compassion is 
deeply moved for the poor, innocent children whose 
parents require them to abstain from their every- 
day employments and enjoyments on the Sabbath. 

Such a course is characterized as u senseless tyr- 
anny,” cruel “ fanaticism,” and the children receive 
much commiseration. 

Now this idea is manifestly absurd on its face 
when we compare it with our mode of reasoning 
upon other subjects ; when we reflect that a large 
part of the education of our youth consists of dis- 
cipline. Is it not, in truth, deemed indispensable 
to a preparation for life-work of any kind ? 

No doubt many children, could they choose, 
would roam the fields and woods all day and every 
day in search, like some of their elders, of freedom 
and happiness, and caring not for education or the 
amenities of cultivated life; but is it thought un- 
kind to abridge this liberty, and require boys and 
girls to spend stated hours regularly within four 
walls, receiving the training which is considered 
needful, and this, too, on not merely one day in 
seven, but oftentimes a large part of five or six ? 

If education is being conducted with a proper 
regard to physical and mental health does any one 
8 


114 


REST OR UNREST. 


regard the recipient as less happy ? The bare 
thought is preposterous. 

The recreations and amusements which, con- 
stantly indulged in, would soon pall upon the taste, 
are enjoyed with keener relish for the interruption, 
and thus an equilibrium is maintained. 

Even leaving out of question the divine require- 
ments of the Sabbath, the child who week after 
week and year after year is taught to deny himself 
of his usual pleasures and pursuits one day in seven 
will in the end, even should it always prove an 
effort, have received incalculable benefit therefrom. 

If his superiors are but kind and wise in their 
methods of dealing with him he will be the better 
for the deprivation. He will have received the 
advantage that seems an important part of the 
seventh-day law ; namely, the diversion of the men- 
tal powers into other channels— the relief from the 
tension that demands to be relaxed just so often. 
He will have received through all his early years a 
drill each week in preparation for the part which 
nine tenths of us are called to act through 
life — that of patient abnegation ; of steady, deter- 
mined adherence to the course marked out for us 
as the best, without regard to our desires or fancied 
deserts. To how many true lives can we point that 
have not largely the element of self-renunciation ? 
And can it be thought unnecessary that any prep- 
aration should be made for the drinking of this 
bitterest of ail draughts to the selfish, human heart ? 
No ! This discipline is not cruel; it is kind. It is 


DRESS PARADE AND BASE- BALL. 


115 


utterly indispensable in the training of those who 
are to be perfect types of manhood and woman- 
hood. Does the man who from early childhood , 
“ lived as he listed ” make the noblest specimen of 
manhood? Have those whose names have been 
the truest synonyms of womanhood reached the 
heights without the discipline of self-denial ? Do 
unlimited self-indulgence and freedom from restraint 
have a tendency to round the character into com- 
pleteness? 

While it is true that childhood and youth come 
to us but once, and we should strive to make them 
happy, and fill them with sweet associations that 
shall brighten all this mortal existence, yet these 
are but as the “ mint, anise and cummin,” compared 
with the “ weightier matters ” that belong to a 
training for the true life here and hereafter. This 
ought we to do and not to leave the other undone. 

Leonora Weldon was a child of tender conscience, 
and could not long pursue the course on which she 
had entered without unhappiness — an unhappiness 
which largely overbalanced the enjoyment which 
she had felt in the forbidden pleasures of Sabbath 
desecration. 

She finally broke away from them all and went 
back to the neglected duties of the sacred day. She 
would have written to her mother on the subject 
but Allie stoutly insisted that she had no right to 
tell tales that would implicate him. She finally 
promised, under the pressure of her brother’s argu- 
ments, that she would ,say nothing upon the sub- 


116 


REST OR UNREST. 


ject until their return home. Alas! for the secrets 
which boys and girls feel constrained to keep from 
their parents. 

Not long after Leonora had fully made up her 
mind to give up Sunday amusements the strength 
of her resolution was strongly tested. It was one 
of those delicious mornings when every thing seems 
to be glad. The sky was at its bluest, and even in 
the crowded city Nature gave hints of inexhaust- 
ible resources and seemed to call on all living 
things to rejoice. 

“ Well, Leonora, will you take a ride in the park 
this morning?” asked Mr. Summerville of his 
niece. “ It has been rather a warm, trying week to 
be in school, and I think you need a little recrea- 
tion.” 

“No, I thank you, Uncle Al,” was the response. 
“I rode out several evenings last week, and I do not 
care to go to-day.” 

“ I am sure you would enjoy it. Are you afraid 
to go ? ” he asked, banteringlv. 

“ No, uncle, I am never afraid when I am with 
you ; and yet I suppose I ought to be when we are 
breaking the Sabbath,” she answered. 

Mr. Summerville smiled. 

“ But, uncle, you have published in The Telescope 
a great many accounts of persons meeting death by 
the capsizing of pleasure-boats, the overturning of 
sleighs and carriages and the colliding of trains on 
Sunday.” 

“Of course, my child, such things happen on 


DRESS PARADE AND BASE-BALL. 


117 


Sunday,” answered her uncle. “ That day is not 
exempt from accidents any more than another. 
But do you suppose that those things took place 
just because it was Sunday? Every body must die 
some time, you know.” 

“Yes, uncle, I know,” replied Leonora, “and 
papa says that wrong-doing is not always punished 
in this world, but it seems to me that we hear of a 
great many Sunday accidents. Anyway,” she con- 
cluded, “ I should not like to die breaking one of 
the commandments.” 

“ What a full-fledged little theologian it is, to be 
sure ! ” laughed Mr. Summerville. 

“ She is just like mamma,” said Allie, with unmis- 
takable contempt in his tone. “ She is great on 
Sunday. Now I — ” 

“Your sister has chosen a good model,” inter- 
rupted his uncle, dryly ; and then he added with 
some severity, “You are rather young, my boy, to 
criticise the opinions and practices of your mother. 
As long as a young person is actuated by love and 
respect for a good mother he cannot go far wrong.’’ 

Allie was silenced, and his cheeks burned hotly at 
the rebuff. But a little later he and his uncle were 
seated behind the dashing span of bays as they 
turned their fine heads toward the park, and Leo- 
nora was on her way to church alone. 

Not until a month later, when Allie Weldon, to- 
gether with a number of boys, most of them older 
than himself, were surprised in the planning of a wild 
scheme for escaping from home and school restraint, 


118 


REST OR UNREST. 


and living such “ lives of freedom ” as they had 
read of in trashy literature, did Mr. Summerville 
reflect that his hand had helped to unloose the 
moorings that had bound his nephew to law and 
order. 

A llie professed the deepest sorrow and remorse 
on being confronted with his fault, and begged his 
uncle to give him another chance. Whether he 
was sincerely repentant or only dreaded exposure 
and punishment remained to be seen ; but Mr. 
Summerville finally acceded to his request. 


THE UNFINISHED STORY. 


119 


CHAPTER X. 


THE UNFINISHED STORY, 


Wilt thou set thine eyes iifton that which is not ? for riches 
certainly make themselves wings ; they fly away as an 
eagle toward heaven. — Prov. 23. 5. 



S the days came and went Edna Varney’s first 


thought on waking and her last before going 
to sleep was of the money which she had found on 
that Sunday morning. 

She had not as yet gone to “ Miss Ruth,” as she 
had called the lady who had offered to teach her, 
although Sabbaths had come and gone since she 
had received the invitation. She would have loved 
to see the baby and hold it in her arms, but she 
could not decide to follow the teaching which she 
knew she should receive. She had concluded to 
keep the money even though it might be the price 
of her soul. 

She had not as yet found a safe depository for 
that which she prized so highly, yet which proved 
so burdensome. She was far from happy. Her 
father, disappointed in his late plans, was drinking 
harder than ever, and frequently visiting his ill 
humor on his child. She received his abuse in 
silence, but it was a silence that was like the burn- 
ing of hidden fire. She inwardly rejoiced that he 
had been frustrated in what he had undertaken, and 


120 


REST OR UNREST. 


wished that it was in her power to perpetuate the 
failure to her own advantage. She thought if she 
could only read the hidden papers and find out what 
made them so valuable, and how valuable they really 
were, she would try to make use of them herself. 

You will see that this girl of my story was mak- 
ing rapid progress on the downward road. 

She resolved that she would learn to read, and to 
this end she studied every day, her text-book being 
an old primer which Mrs. Weldon had given her. 
She soon learned to know at sight the names of 
different animals and other objects from the illus- 
trations above them, and was even able to frame a 
sentence now and then, though this haphazard read- 
ing was fully as apt to prove wrong as right. She was 
delighted to find that her book contained “writing,” 
as she called the script, and hoped soon to be able 
to decipher the documents which her father thought 
she knew nothing about. 

“ What was that word he used about me to 
Rube — inefficient ? ” she asked herself. She knew 
that it meant good-for-nothing, she told herself, 
for that was the adjective which he usually applied 
to her. 

So she pored over her primer and copied the 
words on the hearth with a bit of charcoal, sweep- 
ing them off carefully afterward. But, work as hard 
as she might, the papers did not seem to grow any 
more clear, and she began to fear that her father 
might take them away before she should be able to 
read them. 


THE UNFINISHED STORY. 


121 


One day when she heard Bob Levering whistling 
in the alley the thought occurred to her to call him 
in and get him to read the troublesome documents 
aloud. He could read, she knew, and she thought 
that here was a solution of her difficulties, since it 
was not probable that he would understand the real 
value of the treasured papers. 

Edna hurried into her little bed-room and placed 
the pocket-book under her pillow for safe keeping. 
She had a greater sum of money now than she knew 
what to do with, and yet she was plotting to gain 
still more. 

Climbing on a chair she drew out the brick and 
secured the papers. 

She would let Bob see only one at a time. It 
would be the safer plan, she thought, so she selected 
the page which seemed to be the beginning, and put 
the others in her pocket. 

She called Bob several times before he came. 
When he made his appearance she asked rather 
skeptically, “ Didn’t you say you could read writ- 
ing?” 

“ I don’t know as I said anything about it,” 
answered Bob, rather loftily ; “ but I hope I can. 
All educated people can read writing as well as 
reading. Have you been getting a letter? ” 

“ No,” answered Edna. “ It is one I found ; and 
I can’t seem to make it all out rightly,” turning it 
over and running her eyes along the upside-down 
page as if in search of the troublesome passages. 

“ No, I should reckon not,” observed the boy, 


122 


REST OR UNREST. 


laughing. “ Give it here, I’ll pick it out for 

yy 

you. 

Edna handed him the sheet. She would submit 
to his air of superiority in order to learn what she 
so much wanted to know. 

. “ The date has been scratched out,” he said, and 
then he began oracularly: “ ‘ Dear Mr. Ball’ — I sup- 
pose he was a sort of a calfey chap, and so they 
named him Bawl,” he stopped to parenthesize. “ ‘I 
write to let you know that your boy was not drowned, 
but is now, after all these years, alive and tolerably 
well. He has always been cared for according to a 
poor man’s means, which, of course, does not mean 
that he has been sitting in the lap of luxury all these 
years. Of course he would not know you to-day, 
nor, on the other hand, would you know him, and 
you might not be willing to own him if you did, 
though he is as good a fellow as you are or ever was. 
I was one of the crew of the yacht Mermaid when 
she made that Sunday excursion trip in June, 18 — . 
It was the last excursion that you enjoyed much for 
awhile, I venture. 

“ ‘ Perhaps you remember kicking a fellow who 
came into your wife’s presence with a cigar in his 
mouth. I was that fellow, and I vowed to have re- 
venge for that kick, and I rather think I’ve had it ; 
don’t you ? 

“ ‘ I shipped for foreign parts not long after with 
“ my orphan nephew,” and I tell you the child got 
heaps of petting and coddling both from crew and 
passengers. I came back when I thought it was 


THE UNFINISHED STORY. 


123 


safe, and I do not doubt that you have seen your 
heir more than once. He goes by the name — ’ ” 
Bob stopped in his reading and asked, .abruptly, 
“ Is that all there was of it ? ” 

“ Yes — no, maybe there is more. I’ll see,” stam- 
mered Edna, going into the inner room and taking 
the papers out of her pocket. 

“ I may as well let him have them all,” she said 
to herself. “ I don’t believe there are any checks 
or bonds such as old Mr. Issachar talks about to 
his customers sometimes.” 

She could not keep the thought of old Mr. 
Issachar out of her mind. 

, “ That story would do to print,” said Bob, as she 
reappeared. “ I hope it won’t end like some of the 
stories in the papers — ‘ to be concluded.’ ” 

He took the dingy sheets which she gave him 
and began to look for the continuation of what he 
had just read. 

“ There is something torn off of that other sheet — 
a chapter missing,” he added, laughing; “but I 
guess this comes next ; ” and he resumed his reading. 

“ ‘ You will know that I am telling you the truth 
by the little dress and shoes and things. Your wife 
will remember them if you do not. 

“‘The doctor tells me that in all probability I 
have not long to live, and I thought maybe I could 
die easier if I made a confession — ’ ” Here the 
paper was again torn off. 

“ Well, now, that is what I call downright mean,” 
said Bob. “ That’s all there is of it. These other 


124 


REST OR UNREST. 


papers are nothing but old accounts. Where did 
you pick that up, anyhow?” 

“ O, I found them among some old rubbish,” re- 
plied the girl, reaching out her hand for the papers, 
which were unhesitatingly given to her. “ Father 
says he used to write for the papers, and I reckon 
it is a story he commenced and never finished,” she 
continued, with studied carelessness. 

“ It sounds like one I have read ; a sort of Charley 
Ross yarn. Such things do really happen some- 
times. But get the old man to finish it and send 
it to one of the papers. It would make his for- 
tune.” 

Edna could scarcely forbear expressing her con- 
tempt at the idea which was the result of her own 
fabrication ; but she managed to repress her scorn 
for the man whom she called father, and promised 
to try and get the story completed. How easily 
she was slipping from one sin into another ! 

As soon as Bob had taken his leave she replaced 
the papers where she had found them, meanwhile 
repeating over and over to herself the name of the 
person to whom the letter was addressed. 

“ Mr. Ball, Mr. Ball ; I guess I can remember 
that,” she said. “ Now I guess I know ’most as 
much as father does, with all his old proverbs and 
sayings. I just hate them, especially, ‘ He that 
would thrive must rise at five ! ’ she added spite- 
fully, making a wry face, and jumping down from 
the chair as if she was trying to crush the obnox- 
ious old saying under her feet. 


THE UNFINISHED STORY. 


125 


“ When I conclude to build me a house and live 
by myself I am going to sleep till noon if I want 
to; so there!” she said, apostrophizing the mirror 
and shaking her fist at the little, pale, dark face 
with black eyes that looked out at her. “ Then 
father can hire a woman to cook and wash for him 
and ‘ make him comfortable.’ ” 

The words brought to her recollection the fact 
that to-day was her usual day for washing, and that 
she was out of soap. 

“ Father never thinks of any thing unless I tell 
him, and I am not going to spend my money for 
soap,” she argued. “ Old Mrs. Liscomb made a 
big kettle full last week, more than she can use in 
an age, and she left it setting out in the shed. She 
will never miss a pint ; besides, I expect she would 
give it to me if I asked her, so I won’t trouble her; 
she may be lying down.” 

Taking an old tin cup she went over to Mrs. 
Liscomb’s and walked once or twice past the house. 
Seeing no one she opened the gate and stealthily 
approached the shed where the great kettle of 
soap was still standing. “ Thou shalt not steal,” 
spoke the voice of conscience, which was not yet 
dead. 

But she silenced the monitor with the reflection 
that the commandments were only for the Jews. 
Dipping her cup into the kettle she brought it out 
brimming full of the quivering jelly-like mass. She 
had nearly reached the gate when she saw Mr. 
Issachar coming up the street. At the same mo- 


126 


REST OR UNREST. 


ment Mrs. Liscomb opened the door and called out, 
loudly : 

“ Bring that soap back here, you little thief, or 
I’ll send the sheriff after you.” 

Darting through the gate and leaving it open 
Edna sped toward home as fast as she could go, 
never pausing until she was in the house with the 
door shut. Then she laughed at the idea of Mrs. 
Liscomb sending the sheriff after a pint of soap, and 
set about preparing for her work, saying to herself, 
“Mrs. Liscomb always was a cross old thing, but 
her bark is worse than her bite.” 

By this time Issachar’s slower steps had reached 
the dilapidated old house where the Varneys lived, 
and Edna was started out of her soliloquy by a rap 
at the door. When she opened it and saw the wit- 
ness to her late petty theft she felt half afraid that 
he had come to charge her with graver dishonesty 
than that. 

“ My child,” began the Jew, in his fatherly way, 
“ I came to see — ” 

“ No, sir ; no, indeed, sir,” interrupted the guilty 
girl, anticipating his words. 

“ To see if your father will be at home this even- 
ing,” continued the old man, attributing Edna’s 
agitation to mortification on account of the incident 
of the soap. 

“Yes, sir, he will be at home to-night,” she hur- 
ried on to answer, much relieved to learn the pur- 
port of his errand. 

“ Then tell him if he will call at my store he 


THE UNFINISHED STORY. 


127 


can learn something to his interest,” concluded 
Issachar. 

Edna promised to deliver the message, at the 
same time debating in her own mind whether she 
should not tell the visitor what she had learned 
about the papers. But the thought came that she 
might get herself into serious trouble, and perhaps 
the money that she had found did not belong to 
the old man after all. 

The idea of making reparation for the wrong, the 
thought of which had troubled her so much but a 
short time ago, was now yielding to selfish consider- 
ations ; so true is it that the longer we continue 
in sin the less tender will our conscience become. 
She had no faith in the honor of either her father 
or Rube, and she believed that Issachar would do 
right with the letter if he had it, and be rewarded 
for the act ; but still Edna kept silence. 

The Jew turned'away, and the sight of his bowed 
form and gray beard smote the girl with a touch of 
self-reproach. She tried to put the feeling aside as 
quickly as possible, and bringing a tub, a kettle, 
and a wash-board from a closet she set about the 
task of washing. 

When the rubbing-board came into requisition 
the garments were scoured a little harder, worn out 
a little more, and perhaps made a trifle cleaner, 
through the self-dissatisfaction which made the 
worker seek relief in outward action. 

There were many pails of water to be carried 
from the river, and by the time her work was done 


128 


REST OR UNREST. 


she had little feeling of pity except self-pity on ac- 
count of her aching back and limbs. There was a 
dull pain in the top of her head, too; for, having 
improvised a tie to her hat, she had carried the 
weight of her wealth on her brain all day. 

“ I don’t think any body ought to be expected to 
be always poor and hard run, and work like a slave,” 
she said, defiantly, addressing the looking-glass 
again. 

The usually pale face that flashed back the 
black eyes was now flushed hotly with exercise and 
the steaming soap-suds. 

“ There is no use in making soap strong enough 
to take the skin off of people’s fingers,” she grum- 
bled, looking at her red hands. Then she sat 
down to think. She wished she had asked Mr. 
Issachar if he knew any one by the name of Ball. 
She almost wished she had given him the papers. 
Her father had abused him as well as her, and the 
thought produced a fellow-feeling for the old man 
apart from the consideration of his uniformly kind 
manner toward herself. 

She had often stopped at his store and stood on 
tiptoe admiring the jewelry in his show-case and 
wishing that she had as much for her own. She 
would wear rings on her thumbs and on all her 
fingers, she had sometimes thought, and reflected 
complacently, in her dream of splendor, that this 
was as much as any one could do in the way of 
finger ornament. 

She fell into a silent mood, and her dark eyes 


THE UNFINISHED STORY . 


129 


were full of musing. As the shadows began to fall 
and the time approached for her father’s return she 
was half tempted to forestall his visit to Issachar’s 
shop by taking the papers and putting them in 
the old man’s hands. 

True, she would never dare to come home again, 
but perhaps the Jew would let her live at his house. 
She remembered a beautiful young girl with lus- 
trous black hair and eyes much like her own, with 
delicately penciled eyebrows, whom the Jew had 
called his daughter. The picture of the fair-faced, 
dark-eyed young Jewess had filled her dreams on 
the night following, for this neglected child had a 
quick eye for the beautiful, and now she recalled 
it anew. 

If she gave Issachar the papers and restored the 
money would he not feel bound to provide a home 
for her, and would she not be beautifully dressed 
and wear jewels, like his daughter? True, she had 
heard that the Jews were rejecters and haters of the 
Saviour of the world ; but then she thought, in her 
ignorant sinfulness, what was the Saviour to her? 

“ Now or never,” she said to herself. Her 
resolve was quickly taken. She would venture her 
all in the hope of a pleasant home and.beautiful sur- 
roundings. 

She thought to herself that she would have the 
clothes on the line, and perhaps when her father 
came and found no supper awaiting him he would 
find out that she had been of some use after all. 

She gave her shoulders the old impatient move- 
9 


130 


REST OR UNREST. 


ment as the words came somehow to her memory, 
“Be kind to your father, Edna. He used to be 
different, and perhaps he may be again, some-' 
time.” 

She thought rebelliously that he would never be 
otherwise than selfish and disagreeable. Yet, bad 
as she was, it was not without a pang that she 
thought of disobeying her mother’s last request. 

She went to the mantel-piece and took down a 
faded photograph of her dead parent. He would 
not care about it, and besides it was hers by right. 
Was there any thing else that she would care to 
take ? O, yes, the little white mug with the blue 
bands around it from which the baby used to 
drink his milk, “ when there was any milk for him,” 
she reflected, with another bitter thought toward 
her father as she remembered the fiery drink that 
must be bought for himself though all the others 
might die of thirst and starvation. 

Her small preparations did not require much 
time, and she was soon ready to start. She stopped 
a few minutes before the cracked mirror. 

“ Good-bye to you,” she said, addressing her 
image, “ with your shabby old hat and faded 
patched dress ! ” 

Despite her exultant words she lingered for a 
little longer, while an expression that was unmis- 
takably sad filled the dark eyes that looked at 
her out of the little glass. 

There had not been much of brightness and 
happiness in her home ; but it had been her home 


THE UNFINISHED STORY. 


181 


for years, and there were some associations con- 
nected with it that could not be sundered lightly. 

She turned and looked about the room. In 
that corner had been the bed from which her 
mother’s pale face had so often smiled at her. By 
this window baby had lain in his little coffin with 
white violets in his hands. Yonder had stood his 
cradle which the besotted father had since sold for 
drink ! She had no tender reflecting thought for 
him, and, remembering her ignorance and darkness, 
can it be wondered at ? 

She moved suddenly, and wheeling sharply, as if 
resolute in turning her back upon all her past, 
climbed on the chair and took out the papers once 
more, and, going out, closed the door behind her. 

She cast a glance at the willow, her willow across 
the river, another at the garments waving on the 
clothes-line, and then walked resolutely down the 
street without looking back. 




132 


REST OK UNREST. 


CHAPTER XI. 

JEWS AND CHRISTIANS. 

And, behold , there was a great earthquake : for the angel of 
the Lord descended from heaven , and came and rolled back 
the stone froin the door , and sat upon it. . . . And the 
angel answer ed and said unto the women, Fear ?iot ye: for 
I know that ye seek Jesus, which was crucified. He is 
not here: for he is risen, as he said. — Matt. 28. 2, 5, 6. 

C OULD it be that the lately ragged and often 
hungry child who had so long toiled up and 
down the steep bank carrying water for the cooking 
and washing that fell to her lot, and who had re- 
ceived little but censure and proverbs for all her 
pains, was now indeed an inmate of a handsome 
house such as she had often looked at and admired ? 

She had in times past gazed longingly into bril- 
liantly lighted parlors, where beautifully dressed 
children moved about among their elders, loved and 
caressed, and had felt bitterly envious. 

She had stood on Christmas nights, almost bare- 
footed, and shivering in her thin clothing, looking at 
heavily laden trees that bore such fruit as she had 
never before dreamed of, and had harbored angry, 
rebellious thoughts of the difference between her 
life and that of other children. 

Was it all Over now, and were peace and plenty, 
kindness and happiness to be indeed her portion ? 


JEWS AND CHRISTIANS. 


133 


Had the Christmas-tide of which she had heard, 
with its gifts in commemoration of the great Gift to 
the world and the presents of the wise men to the 
infant Saviour, come to her with its blessings? 
Could it be true? If some one would only come to 
her and tell her that it was all true ! She heard 
words, but they came to her in a confused, un- 
meaning way for a little while. Then she distinctly 
recognized her father’s voice calling her name, 
“ Edna, Edna,” and following it up with the most 
hated of all the hateful proverbs. 

She started hastily with a pang of disappoint- 
ment and the sensation that is so much like a blow, 
the first remembrance of a sorrow on awakening. 
A moment later she recalled every thing clearly. 
The resolve to forsake her home and her father to 
seek a shelter in the home of Mr. Issachar ; the 
dream of adoption, of kindness, wealth and splendor ; 
the companionship of the beautiful young Jewess; 
the final leave-taking, the resolution strengthened 
anew the farther she left her old home behind her; 
then the unexpected meeting with her father him- 
self, on turning a corner not far from Issachar’s 
store ; the abrupt questioning as to what had 
brought her away from home at a time when she 
should have been preparing his supper, and the 
dumb terror that had overwhelmed her on being 
discovered. 

She remembered with a thrill of anger how her 
father had seized her by the shoulders and, turning 
her around, had made her walk before him back 


134 


REST OR UNREST. 


over the ground she had lately trodden so exult- 
antly, back from her dream of comfort and kind- 
ness, of beauty and brightness, back to the old 
desolate home where the clothes she had washed 
were flapping in the wind and the empty water-pail 
and fireless stove awaited her coming. 

But her greatest trouble was the fear lest her 
father should discover that the papers were miss- 
ing, or that he should notice the stuffed condition 
of her pocket. She gave him Issachar’s message, 
and hoped that after supper he would go out and 
thus give her an opportunity to get rid of a part of 
her burden. 

But no, when supper was over he produced his 
pipe and sat smoking until the room was filled with 
volumes of tobacco smoke, while Edna sat un- 
easily waiting, painfully conscious of the contents 
of her pocket. 

What if he should question her as to what she 
had ? She resolved that she would tell him they 
were some picture- papers that Bob had given her. 
Thus she stained her soul with another falsehood ! 

The time dragged wearily on until it seemed to 
Edna that her father knew what she had done and 
was torturing her thus before whipping her. But at 
last, after looking at the clock several times, he 
refilled his pipe and went to the door. He stood 
there for what seemed to the girl a long, long 
time, but finally sauntered off. 

Edna stole to the door on tiptoe to see if he had 
really gone. She saw that he was some distance 


JEWS A AW CHRISTIANS. 135 

away; and not stopping to lodk in the other direc- 
tion she darted back, and, placing the chair, she 
hurriedly drew the papers from her pocket and, 
climbing up, removed the brick. With no little 
relief at the thought of being rid of so much of her 
burden she thrust the papers into their hiding- 
place. 

In her eagerness to avoid the punishment which 
she felt she had so narrowly escaped she did not 
think to close the door, and little suspected that 
some one was watching her movements as she 
closed the opening of the strange safe, turning her 
head critically on one side as she inspected it to 
see if it looked as if it had not been tampered with. 

When she was satisfied she sprang down and set 
the chair over by the table again, brushing it off 
with her soiled apron and then sitting down on it. 

A few minutes after Rube appeared at the door. 

“ How do you do, sis?” was his greeting, accom- 
panied by a smile. 

Edna was really glad to see him, and asked him 
why he had not been to see her for so long. 

“ I have intended coming every day, but I have 
been worked nearly to death,” explained Rube. 

“ How is the old man ? I have not seen him for 
two months or more,” he continued. 

Edna was on the point of confronting him with 
the falsehood ; but, growing daily in cunning as she 
learned the wiles of others, she restrained herself 
and merely said that her father was “ well enough,” 
she guessed, and that he had just gone out. 


136 


REST OR UNREST. 


Rube laughed. “ He is no great favorite of yours, 
and it is no wonder,” he said. “ I had some nice 
lemonade to-day,” he continued, “ and it made me 
think of you. Do you like lemonade as well as you 
used to ? ” 

“ Every bit,” answered Edna, promptly and with 
emphasis. 

“ Well,” putting his hand into his pocket, “just 
step around to the grocery and get some lemons 
and sugar and some cakes, and we will have a good 
time while the old man is away.” 

Edna unhesitatingly started upon her errand, won- 
dering meanwhile if she were not really richer than 
Rube, with all his pockets full of loose coin. 

Rube in turn looked up the street to ascertain 
whether Edna were indeed out of the way, and in 
turn mounted upon the chair and removed the loose 
brick. Possessing himself of the papers he glanced 
hurriedly over them, put them in his breast-pocket, 
and replaced the brick. 

Edna soon returned, but Rube had suddenly 
recollected an engagement and said he could not 
honor the feast with his presence. 

“You haven’t an idea where the old man went, 
have you ? ” he asked, as he was about to leave the 
house. 

“ Mr. Issachar left word for him to come to his 
store to-night, but he hardly ever does what any 
one asks him to do,” answered Edna. 

“Who is Mr. Issachar?” asked Rube. “Where 
is his store ? ” 


JEWS AND CHRISTIANS. 


137 


“ He is a jeweler and old-clothes dealer, and his 
store is opposite Slocum’s, on Pine Street.” 

“ Here is another quarter for you, Edna,” said 
Rube as he went away. “ Good-bye. I’ll come 
again soon.” 

He disappeared almost as suddenly as he had 
come, but he left pleasant reminders of his call in 
the treat which Edna lost no time in preparing. 

Her father came back just after she had hidden 
away a part of the lemons and sugar behind the 
coffee-mill. 

“Where did you get lemons?” he asked, sniff- 
ing. 

“ Rube sent me after them, and gave me the 
money to get them. Will you have a glass? ” 

“ Not any. No such slop for me,” was the 
answer. “ You would better have saved the money 
Rube gave you. ‘ Take care of the pence and the 
pounds will take care of themselves.’ ” 

Edna made a wry face behind her glass. If she 
had been referred to the fifth commandment she 
would have probably answered that the command- 
ments were only for the Jews, this now being her 
excuse for doing whatever seemed good in her own 
eyes, regardless of right or wrong. 

“ What was the boy in such a bother of a hurry 
about? I wanted to see him particularly,” grum- 
bled her father, whose ignorance of her unfilial con- 
duct saved her from another proverb, if not a box on 
the ear. 

“ He said he had an engagement,” she replied, 


138 


REST OR UNREST. 


not vouchsafing him the information that Rube had 
wished to see him also. 

Her father appeared disappointed, and Edna was 
glad of it. She had not forgotten her ignominious 
forced march. And though the failure had put the 
idea of running away completely out of her head, 
still she was angry at the miscarriage of her plan. 

She went and brought in the clothes, and then 
brought another bucket of water. As she came 
back she saw Bob Levering. 

“ Don’t you ever say any thing to father about 
those papers,” she said. “ Something has gone 
wrong and he is as cross as — as — ” hesitating for a 
suitable simile. 

“A baby?” queried Bob. 

Edna tossed her head in utter contempt of the 
comparison. 

“ Don’t talk about babies in the same day ! ” she 
exclaimed, tragically. 

“ But why not ask him about finishing the story ? ” 
persisted Bob. “ The editor of The Telescope would 
like to have it. He wants it completed right 
away.” 

.Truly the way of transgressors is hard. Edna 
Varney little knew when she manufactured the 
story about her father’s authorship that it would so 
soon be the means of frightening her so thoroughly. 

“You see I have been telling Mr. Summerville 
about that serial, and he says there is money in 
it,” went on the untruthful, teasing boy. 

“ Father would be very angry if he. knew that I 


JEWS AND CHRISTIANS. 


139 


told of it, and would beat me cruelly. But, if you 
want me to be beaten — ■” she added, pathetically. 

Bob laughed. 

“ O, I guess may be I can sleep to-night if you 
are not beaten,” he said. “ But you certainly can’t 
be ‘ beaten ’ at making up a pitiful face. I reckon 
Sum can wait a while for the story,” he added, falling 
into a prevalent habit in speaking of superiors. 

When Edna again entered the house the brick was 
lying on the floor and her father was gone. What a 
narrow escape she had made, she reflected. Sup- 
pose he had sent her out and looked for the papers 
before she had had an opportunity to return them ! 

And now she asked herself whether she would not 
better have given them to Rube or to Mr. Issachar, 
and then concocted some story to account for their 
disappearance. Anyhow, she knew their contents. 
She knew the name of the man to whom the letter 
was written, and if need be she would reveal it. Her 
father was planning to do some one a great wrong, 
she felt sure, and she would like to prevent the suc- 
cess of the plot. She did not stop to question her 
motives or to ask herself if she were free from the 
sin of wrong-doing toward others — if the act of 
keeping back the money which she had found was 
not the same in kind if not in degree with that of 
which she suspected her father, and for which she 
condemned him so unsparingly in her thoughts. 

Such was the panorama that passed before the 
mental vision of Edna Varney on awakening from 
what had seemed the fulfillment of Her day-dreams. 


140 


REST OR UNREST. 


All the events of the preceding day, so far as she 
had known them, now came back to her as she sat 
up and rubbed her eyes to get the stinging sensa- 
tion out of them. Had her father at last succeeded 
in his plans, and if so would he be any more 
amiable to-day? Or would he punish her for her 
attempted escape on yesterday ? 

Now that she had more time to think the matter 
over she doubted more and more the wisdom of her 
intended venture, and thought it more and more 
improbable that her romantic dream would have 
resulted in any thing but disappointment. 

She thought it was perhaps well that she had 
not given up the money, since she might have 
received nothing instead. Yet this thought did not 
cause her to feel any more kindly toward her father 
on account of his having compelled her to return, 
but quite the contrary. 

He called her impatiently the second time before 
she made her appearance, but as soon as he saw her 
he seemed to forget his proverbs and began to 
question her. 

“ Did you see Rube take any thing when he was 
here last night ? ” 

Edna said that she did not. 

“ Was there any body else here besides Rube ? ” 

“ I was here a part of the time,” answered Edna. 

“ Did you ever see me take some papers out of a 
hole in the wall ? ” 

The girl gave a start. “ No, I never did,” she 
answered. 


JEWS AND CHRISTIANS. 


141 


“ Nor Rube?” he cross-questioned. 

Again she answered in the negative. 

“ He was sitting just there,” indicating the place, 
“ when I went out, and was still sitting there when 
I came back.” 

“ He would have plenty of time while she was 
gone,” mused her father. “ But how should he 
know where to find them ? ” 

How, indeed ? Edna asked herself, if he had truly 
taken the papers. 

“ I’ll be even with the young reprobate yet ! ” 
exclaimed Griffith Varney, suddenly springing to his 
feet, and overturning his chair in his haste. 

He went to a chest in a corner of the room and, 
unlocking it, took out something which seemed to 
be money and went out hastily, muttering : 

“ I’ll be even with him, the undutiful rascal! ” 

He turned down the street toward Mr. Slocum’s 
place of business. 

The proprietor of the “ Emporium Grocery and 
Saloon ” was standing in his door, and greeted Var- 
ney rather effusively despite his disreputable appear- 
ance. He kept what he called “ a respectable 
place ” — though its sign and screened window con- 
tradicted the claim — and he liked his patrons to be 
respectable-looking people. But Griffith Varney’s 
money was as good as that of his more decent- 
looking customers — and he got a good deal of it — 
so the man must be tolerated. 

But this morning Varney returned his salutation 
with curt civility and crossed over to the other side. 


142 


REST OR UNREST. 


Issachar was absorbed in conversation with a 
brother Jew upon some subject of mutual interest, 
and did not, for some time, notice the entrance of 
Varney. 

“ But our traffic is compelled to suspend on the 
Christian’s Sabbath, and thus we lose two days,” 
urged the visitor, laying his hand on Issachar’s arm 
in a persuasive manner. 

“ It matters not. We are bound to keep our 
Sabbath,” replied the jeweler, doggedly. 

“ But, my friend, the literal day is not so impor- 
tant, you know, and the revolutions of the earth 
preclude the possibility of our observing the very 
day first appointed, or of our scattered people all 
observing the same day,” urged the other. 

“They are making too many inroads into our 
laws and modes of worship,” replied Issachar, 
unyieldingly. “ Think what their Sabbath signifies 
to the Christians.” 

The visitor smiled and waved his hand with a 
quick motion as if in the act of brushing aside an 
unimportant thing. 

“ To many who call themselves Christians it does 
not seem to signify any thing,” he said. “To us it 
would signify obedience to the commandment of the 
God of our father Abraham.” 

Alas ! that the rejecters of our Saviour should be 
able to say, of those who claim to believe that he 
died for them, that they care not for the commem- 
oration of the day on which he broke the bonds of 
death and rose for their justification. 


JEWS AND CHRISTIANS. 


143 


“ Consider the matter until we meet again,” said 
Issachar’s friend as he took his leave. As he passed 
out he almost ran against a young man who was 
standing close up to the door a little at one side. 

“ A Christian spy, mayhap,” said the Jew to him- 
self, as he passed on. “ Well, he heard only the 
truth, and truth is wholesome.” 

But the spy, if spy he was, kept his place by the 
door for some time. He walked quickly around 
the-corner and disappeared just before Griffith Var- 
ney came out of the house. 


144 


REST OR UNREST. 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE NEW INMATE. 

Therefore to him that knoweth to do good , and doeth it not , 
to him it is sin . — James 4. 17. 

W HEN Osmond Young left his uncle’s pres- 
ence on that Saturday night, with the name 
of “ ingrate ” sounding in his ears, his feelings were 
such as no words can describe. He felt crushed 
and humiliated for his own part, and deeply sorry 
for his uncle’s pain ; for he knew that, angry as he 
was, the part he had performed was as the rending 
asunder of tender chords. 

Osmond went straight to his own room — the 
room which had been his almost ever since he 
could remember ; the room where as a boy he 
had been allowed to have almost every thing he 
chose ; which he had introduced to his boy 
friends as “ his own private, particular den.” The 
associations of the spot were almost endless. It 
had been at one time profusely ornamented with 
deer’s antlers, rifle, rod and reel, with all the plenti- 
ful paraphernalia of the ardent embryo sportsman. 
It had jocosely borne the name of “ the Herba- 
rium and Rock-room,” when the enthusiastic 
young student littered his chamber with botanical 
and geological specimens. Some of the latter 
were there yet. 


THE NE W INMA TE. 


145 


On his return from college he had found the 
large, airy apartments newly furnished and wearing 
a tone of quiet elegance that was quite to the cul- 
tivated taste of the young man, who smiled, with a 
little mistiness in his eyes, to find that some of 
the small rubbish which he no longer prized had 
found its way to his aunt’s apartment, where it was 
cherished for love’s dear sake. 

But there were memories more sacred than 
these. It was here that his foster-mother had 
taught him to pray, when a little child, rarely fail- 
ing to come for a quiet talk and a good-night kiss 
in the time which now seemed so far away. 

His uncle’s affection had been less tender and 
demonstrative ; but what had he not done for the 
one whom to-night he had ordered to leave his 
house forever! 

It was well, thought Osmond, that he should do 
so, and yet it was as the plucking out of an eye. 
Not that his heart faltered over the sacrifice of his 
inheritance. He would gladly have gone forth to 
fight the battle of life for himself ; but to go out 
from the home of his childhood a banished one, an 
exile — this was the bitter portion of his cup. “ And 
she will need me so often,” he thought to himself 
as he walked the room, reflecting upon his uncle’s 
hostility toward all things which his wife loved and 
held sacred. It was true that he tried to hide his 
real sentiments from her, and to show a kind con- 
sideration for her feelings ; but there had often 
been ^occasions when the most careful diplomacy 
10 


146 


REST OR UNREST. 


on Osmond’s part had barely saved his aunt from 
the keenest pain. 

“ I ought to be here, but not as the heir of the 
house ; I have filled that place too long,” he 
mused. “ Why did I wait so long to define my 
position? Why did I go through college at Uncle 
Norman’s expense when my conscience continually 
protested against the conditions? I deserve the 
name of ingrate.” 

But there was no time to lose. There was much 
to be done to-night. He could not tell his aunt 
at once of the rupture between his uncle and him- 
self; he would try after awhile to prepare her for 
his departure. To-night there was other work to 
be done. 

Among his possessions there were valuable pres- 
ents, his gold watch and chain among the number, 
that he felt he could not take away with him. 
There were other things which were indubitably 
his own — mementos of school and college days — 
trifles received from his uncle and aunt to which no 
money value could be affixed, but which were price- 
less in his eyes. 

He set about his evening’s work feeling as if it 
had been said to him, “ Set thy house in order, for 
thou shalt die, and not live.” 

But might not Mr. Ball revoke or commute his 
order? No; Osmond thought he would desire no 
compromise. It was far better so, and the sooner 
the order was executed the better. There were 
papers and letters to be destroyed ; letters which, 


THE NEW INMATE. 


147 


had he remained at home, money could not have 
bought. He read them over one by one and com- 
mitted them to the grate, to be lighted by and by. 

There were some documents to be returned to 
his uncle, and one package of letters and some 
manuscript poems of his aunt’s, which he laid aside 
with the few possessions which he should claim as 
his own. 

H is task lasted until nearly midnight. When all 
was arranged he threw himself into his luxurious 
lounging chair and gave full rein to his thoughts. 
His mind went back over all his past. He seemed 
to recall it all, even long-forgotten scenes and inci- 
dents. His memory seemed to travel along the 
events of his boyhood and early youth, down to 
the time of the meeting with his fellow-students on 
the eve of commencement. He recalled their plans 
for the future, and felt self-convicted as he remem- 
bered the stand which he had taken on that night. 
He had known the truth, and yet he had allowed 
himself to be led on and on in a way which his 
heart mistrusted at every step. How much better 
had he done than his friends, Jameson and Sum- 
merville ? He had refused to take part in the 
regatta on account of his scruples against Sabbath 
desecration. They had laughed at his objection 
and mentally voted him a fanatic ; but in how far 
had he done better than they since entering upon 
the real race of life ? 

True, he had individually kept the Sabbath ; but 
he had identified himself with corporations the 


148 


REST OR UNREST. 


sins of whose members were great in their dimen- 
sions in proportion to the Sabbath-breaking which 
they forced upon their employes. 

Osmond’s college friends were going on in their 
respective ways as they had planned to do — they 
who acknowledged no supreme authority. Had his 
career thus far been a reiteration of his belief in 
the Bible and its precepts? 

Summerville, he thought, cared for nothing but 
his newspaper and its interests, and acted accord- 
ingly. Paul Jameson had so far fulfilled the promise 
of his early aspirations as to hold the office of Mayor 
of the city of Blankton, to which he had been elected 
by a large majority. He had worked his way to 
this position by indefatigable perseverance; that 
perseverance which surmounts all obstacles, tramples 
upon all scruples, and recognizes no God. As a 
member of the bar, he had espoused the interests 
of those who in turn would aid him in reaching the 
goal to which he aspired, 1 regardless of the eternal 
laws of right and justice. 

It was not that he loved the vile and hated the 
pure. His habits, in regard to moral conduct, were 
above reproach ; and, while the aims that he cher- 
ished could not but blunt his moral perception, he 
had a certain fastidiousness which sometimes 
winced at the contact which they involved. The 
saloon men of the city soon came to know him as 
their friend, and his name grew to be a watch-word 
among the violators of law and good government, 
who escape by multitudes through the convenient 


THE NE W INMA TE. 


149 

technical loop-holes which unprincipled lawyers are 
famous for discovering. The agitation of the Sun- 
day question brought him crowds of clients among 
those who grudged one day in seven as an inter- 
ruption of their traffic, oftentimes a traffic on which 
the light of no day should ever shine. 

There were those who labored earnestly for the 
enforcement of the present laws, which, were am- 
ple to prevent the abuses which disgrace not a few 
of our so-called Christian cities ; but the wedge 
had entered, and greed of gain, pandering to lawless 
tastes and depraved appetites, was widening the 
breach between the municipal government and the 
authority of high Heaven. 

Paul Jameson had been reared in an atmos- 
phere of morality and social refinement, and 
his sensibilities could not escape being a trifle 
jarred on realizing that, while some of seeming 
respectability and high social standing were on 
the anti-Sabbath side of the question, by far the 
greater number belonged to a class which he 
should never have dreamed of inviting to his 
home and introducing to his wife, his mother and 
sisters. 

A writer has well said, “The grounds on which 
judicious Sabbath regulations are opposed, so far 
from resting on any well-established views of per- 
sonal liberty or social rights, are commonly con- 
structed out of materials made ready by the hands 
of communists, disorganizers, and infidels. They 
have always been the materials out of which a loose 


150 


REST OR UNREST. 


and corrupt society is formed, and by which, when 
thoroughly seasoned, it is set on fire and con- 
sumed.” 

Osmond Young thought of these things and his 
own accountability in regard to them all, remem- 
bering that “ no man liveth unto himself,” as he sat 
alone in his room. 

Others might have been actively promoting 
wrong, but in how far was he responsible as a 
silent witness to and a passive recipient of the 
profits of sin ? To-night his soul protested that his 
sense of gratitude to his foster-parents, and his sin- 
cere wish to bring about a better state of things in 
regard to the labor question, could not justify the 
course which he had followed. His heart con- 
demned him, and he felt that God is greater than 
our hearts. The answer of the Master to the ques- 
tion of the Pharisee came to his memory: “ If ye 
were blind, ye should have no sin ; but now ye say 
we see ; therefore your sin remaineth.” John 9. 41. 

Many months had passed since that night of 
trial, on which the Sabbath morning had dawned 
finding Osmond Young still wrapped in self-com- 
muning. It existed now only in his memory. The 
painful partings had been somehow gone through 
with, and he had gone forth to a struggle which 
was for a time a struggle for bare subsistence. Then 
he had met with a success which surprised while it 
humbled him. He was shown the way wherein he 
might walk and the thing which he might do, and 


THE NEW INM ATE. 


151 


was enabled to work with a grateful heart and a 
clear conscience, though his lot in life was vastly 
different from that which he had formerly known. 

It was night again, and he was in his room, a 
cheerless hotel room, many miles from his old 
home. He was sitting with the same earnest look 
in his dark eyes as on that other night, when the 
past and the future had both seemed present. He 
held in his hand an open letter, the first which he 
had received from his uncle since he had left 
home. 

“ My dear boy,” it ran, in the old-time fatherly 
vein, “assuming that you are feeling somewhat like 
the prodigal son by this time, and acknowledging 
that we are longing to make a feast in honor of 
your return, I write to say, Come back. You will 
not be expected to take your old position; that is 
filled by another. We have a new inmate since 
you left, but there is still room for you. I can get 
you a good situation in one of the banks. Do not 
delay unnecessarily. Come home, and let the past 
be past.” 

Then followed some items of general intelligence, 
and then the old signature, “Your loving Uncle 
Norman.” 

Osmond was touched, but his resolve was un- 
shaken. It was better, since the tie had been sun- 
dered, and he had obtained a start in his new 
sphere of action, that he should remain where he was. 
His heart beat faster over Mr. Ball’s letter, with so 
much of yearning affection between the lines for 


152 


REST OR UNREST. 


his only sister’s only son ; but the young man did 
not waver. 

He would write a loving, loyal reply, and promise 
a visit at some time not far distant, but would take 
care to dissipate all illusory hopes of his “ coming 
home.” 

How could it again be home to him ? And did not 
his uncle say plainly that his former place was filled ? 
There could be no home for him until he could 
make one for himself. 

He slowly folded up the letter and put it back 
into the envelope, looking meanwhile at a strip of 
sky visible from his window where two or three 
stars were twinkling. He was more affected over 
the missive than he liked to be. He had been 
growing more and more interested in the work upon 
which he had entered. It was bringing him fair 
returns, and he was now able to keep the Sabbath 
conscientiously, and was permitted to do some good, 
he thought. He felt more like a man in the sight of 
God and men than he had ever done before. It was 
decidedly better that he should remain. He had 
ceased to think of the well-remembered house in 
Blankton as his home, and no hint of his return had 
ever been breathed before. This was his uncle’s 
first communication, and his aunt’s kind, tender let- 
ters had never contained a hint of his coming back. 

So his mind was made up. But the subject was 
not easily dropped from his thoughts. The words, 
“You will not be expected to take your old 
position, that is filled by another,” recurred to him 


THE NEW INMATE. 


153 


again and again, and brought with them a little 
pang unacknowledged to himself. 

Who could this new inmate be ? Was it possible 
that the long-lost son had been at last discovered ? 
He could rejoice at that thought, but it seemed 
scarcely probable. 

So the days passed by, and Osmond, more and 
more confirmed in his decision, promised himself 
daily that he would take time to write to his uncle 
to-morrow ; yet every day, with its pressure of bus- 
iness, found the letter postponed. 

But the leisure hour at last arrived, and, smarting 
a little at the thought of his remissness, Osmond 
opened the neglected letter to read it again before 
replying. The lines had extended to the bottom of 
the page, leaving barely room for the signature, and 
a postscript on the back had escaped his notice. 

“Osmond, do not fail to come at once. Your 
aunt has grieved about your absence until I am 
seriously alarmed about her. She gave me her 
promise at the first that she would write nothing to 
you on the subject. You would better come quick- 

iy” 

If the young man had been dilatory about reply- 
ing to his uncle’s letter he lost no time in preparing 
to obey the summons home. He grudged every 
hour that should elapse before his arrival. His prep- 
arations were made for an indefinitely protracted 
absence. All thoughts of his business lost their 
importance. His only fear was the fear that he 
might be too late. 


154 


REST OR UNREST. 


But steam shortens the distance between the 
separated, and his destination was at last reached. 

It was Osmond Young’s fate, on returning to the 
home which had so long been his, to see, first of all, 
the new inmate, the one who had taken his place. 
On being admitted by the servant, who was new to 
the position, he went informally to his aunt’s room. 
Pushing back the half-opened door he saw a young 
man apparently about his own &ge, with a handsome 
face and finely modulated voice, sitting in his old 
place reading aloud, while his aunt reclined in an 
invalid chair with closed eyes. He saw that she 
was very pale. 

“ Sir ! ” he said, with what seemed to Osmond a 
ring of superciliousness in his tone. 

Mrs. Ball opened her eyes, started, and held out 
her arms. 

“ I knew you would not, could not refuse to come 
tome, my own dear boy!” she said, and Osmond felt 
himself again indeed the boy on whom she had lav- 
ished the love of her mother-heart. She introduced 
the two young men, and asked them to be the best 
of friends ; but the meeting between them seemed 
constrained. Osmond did not understand the name 
of the new inmate, and that individual’s eyes had, 
he thought, an expression of coldness in them as he 
looked at him. 

However, the two shook hands with apparent cor- 
diality, and the stranger expressed his pleasure at 
the meeting. Osmond was impressed with the be- 
lief that they had met before ; but where ? 


THE NEW INMATE . 


155 


Mr. Ball came in not long after, and greeted 
Osmond with a warmth that seemed indeed that of 
a father welcoming home a long-absent son. 

The evening was spent in pleasant conversation 
on topics of mutual interest. Mrs. Ball did not 
talk much, but she kept her eyes fixed on the face 
of “ her boy,” as she had called him, in a way that 
had touched Osmond deeply, accustomed as he was 
to his aunt’s tenderness. 

“You will find your room ready for you,” she 
said when he bade her good-night. And she held 
his hand as if afraid that she should lose him again. 

“ Thank you, auntie; it will be pleasant to sleep 
in my old quarters once more,” he answered, smil- 
ing. And so the home-coming was tided over, and 
the late exile found himself putting the question 
whether he were really glad or sorry. Glad he 
certainly was to see the dear ones again. But was 
it well to come back to the nest so soan after essay- 
ing to fly out into the world ? He felt sure that 
he would be expected to remain, and could he ever 
again feel at home under his uncle’s roof? 

As he sat thinking over his anomalous position 
there came a quick rap, followed by his uncle’s 
entrance. “ I want to have a little talk with you, 
Osmond,” he said, with what seemed to the young 
man an effort at composure. “ It is some time since 
I have had that pleasure.” 

“ The pleasure will be a mutual one, Uncle Nor- 
man,” answered Osmond. 

“ In the first place,” continued Mr. Ball, in a 


REST OR UNREST. 


i :>6 

business-like tone, “ I want to tell you about 
Julian.” 

Osmond gave a little start. 

“ I saw by your manner that you did not under- 
stand the situation. I know you will be glad when 
I tell you that the young man whom you find in 
our family is our long-lost son.” 

Osmond grasped his uncle’s hand. 

“ I certainly am very glad indeed, and congratu- 
late you most sincerely,” he said, ingenuously, “ if 
you are sure there is no mistake.” 

“ O, there can be no mistake,” answered Mr. 
Ball in a confident tone, and with a slight shade of 
impatience in his manner. “ The proofs of *his 
identity are incontrovertible.” 

He proceeded to tell his nephew a story the de- 
tails of which were very interesting and seemed 
plausible enough. 

“ He is a fine fellow, in spite of the hard luck he 
has had,” concluded Mr. Ball, “ and when he is able 
to cut loose entirely from the worthless old dead- 
beat in whose charge he was left by his abductor 
he will be all right. To your aunt he is simply an 
esteemed young friend to whom I have given the 
name of our lost son. You know she thinks of him 
always as still a babe. But I hope that in time 
she may be able to grasp the truth. He is quite 
devoted to her, poor fellow, and I rely on you, my 
boy, to help us all you can.” 

“You may trust me, uncle,” answered Osmond, 
again congratulating his excited relative, who went 


THE NEW INMATE. 


157 


away as abruptly as he had come, saying, V We 
want you, too ; remember that. There is room 
enough in our home and our hearts for both of 
you.” 

Osmond, left alone, sat and pondered the subject 
long before he could dismiss it from his thoughts. 
The instinctive feeling of mistrust of the new in- 
mate of his old home came back to him in spite of 
the proofs of which his uncle had spoken, and grew 
stronger and stronger. 

“ Pshaw ! ” he said to himself at last, “ I ought 
to be above feelings of jealous suspicion.” 

There came to 'him no thought of his uncle’s 
wealth, but he acknowledged to himself the pang 
with which he had found another filling the place 
which he had formerly held in the household. 

“ It is a most unworthy feeling, and I must fight 
it down,” his thoughts ran on. “ If he is indeed 
the son he has a better right than I.” 

The “ if” refused to be put aside, and seemed to 
grow stronger. Then the thought suggested itself 
that his uncle, notwithstanding the evidences, was 
far from feeling as confident as he wished to feel in 
regard to this son who had been lost and was found 
again. 


158 


REST OR UNREST. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


GLAD TIDINGS OF GOOD THINGS, 


How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that 
bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace ; that bring - 
eth good tidings of good , that publisheth salvation ; that 
saith unto Zion, Thy God reigneth ! — Isa. 52. 7. 

AYS passed by and Edna Varney’s lot became 



harder despite the money which she carried 


in her pocket with an ever-embarrassing conscious- 
ness of its presence there. Her father’s mood since 
the loss of the papers had grown worse. The tire- 
some proverbs were not so frequent, but there were 
curses instead. 

The loose brick lay for many days in the spot 
where he had dropped it on the evening when he 
made the discovery that the documents were miss- 
ing. At last Edna ventured to restore it to its 
place in the wall, though not without some mis- 
givings. She was tired of having it lying in the 
way when she swept, and, having washed to-day, 
she was using the dirty suds for scrubbing the floor, 
and wanted the space clear. 

The thought came to her vaguely as she put it 
back in its old place that the act might somehow 
implicate her in the robbery. And so it proved. 

That evening Griffith Varney came home less 
intoxicated than usual, but in very bad humor for 


GLAD TIDINGS OF GOOD THINGS . 


159 


want of the drink which he had no money to buy, 
having been idle for some time. As he entered the 
house, his eyes, from long habit, sought the old place 
of concealment, and he stopped short and looked at 
the closed door of the depository which he had 
once thought known only to himself. He took out 
the oft-handled brick and thrust in his hand, as if 
in doubt of his senses. Then he threw it violently 
on the floor and began to call Edna. 

The girl was gone on one of her frequent, toil- 
some errands to the river, and when, tired and warm, 
she neared the top of the bank and looked up, she 
saw her father standing just at the end of the 
pathway. 

The sight would have been a disagreeable one at 
any time, but just now it seemed to bode unusual 
evil. A glance at his face confirmed her worst 
fears. How gladly would she have welcomed the 
old mood which she had once found so trying ! 
How willingly would she have heard, “ Labor con- 
quers all things,” “ The loiterer never wins,” or any 
of the many hated sayings which had been flung at 
her in the past ! Blows were worse than platitudes, 
and Edna had mad thoughts of turning back to the 
river and trying to swim to the other shore. She 
hesitated for a moment. Her father did not speak 
to hasten her movements, but made a little im- 
perative gesture which she felt powerless to dis- 
obey. 

As soon as she was within his reach he seized 
her roughly by the shoulder, and, pushing her a 


160 


REST OR UNREST. 


little in advance of him, compelled her to quicken 
her steps, regardless of the burden which she car- 
ried, until they reached the house. 

She almost dropped the half-emptied pail on the 
floor, and, faint with fatigue and fright, was about to 
sit down ; but her unnatural parent ordered her to 
stand up, and marching her to the dreaded spot on 
the other side of the room asked sternly, “ Who 
put that brick up?” 

“ I did. I didn’t know you cared,” answered the 
trembling girl. 

“ Aha, you have handled that brick before, it 
seems.” Then falling once more into the inevitable 
proverb, “The pitcher that goes often to the well is 
broken at last.” 

It had not definitely occurred to Edna before 
that there were several bricks missing from the 
wall, and that there was but one hole into which 
this particular peculiarly shaped one would fit. 

“ Indeed, indeed I have not got the papers, and 
I don’t know where they are,” she exclaimed, losing 
her presence of mind entirely as her father pro- 
duced a stout stick for the evident purpose of 
castigation. 

“Who says any thing about papers, you young 
traitor?” he hissed, and began to rain the blows 
upon her in blind fury. 

One after another the screams of agony rang out 
on the air, but the fiend-like father went on. O 
how fervently she wished in her pain that she had 
never seen the money which had led to the dis- 


GLAD TIDINGS OF GOOD THINGS. 


161 


covery of those ill-starred papers ! If he would 
only stop for a moment she would tell him all and 
give him the pocket-book. 

‘‘Father, 0 father!” she shrieked, but he gave 
no heed. A long course of drunkenness had 
robbed him of pity and natural affection. 

Then she tried to reach her pocket with her left 
hand as he grasped her by her right arm. She 
knew the sight of the money would arrest his at- 
tention. She would give it all to escape the torture 
which she was enduring. 

But writhing anew under every fresh blow, how 
could she accomplish any thing? Would he beat 
her to death and then find the money after- 
ward ? 

In the meantime Bob Levering, hearing the cries, 
had looked in at the open door, and, seeing the 
state of affairs, had run for a policeman, and Griffith 
Varney suddenly found himself seized with a vise- 
like grasp and jerked backward with such violence 
as almost threw him off his feet. 

“ Get out of my house ! ” he said, addressing the 
officer and trying to wrench himself free ; but he 
had found more than his match. 

“ I am going to leave your house and take you 
along with me,” was answered. “ I arrest you on 
the charge of cruelty and disorder.” 

Griffith Varney was not a man to submit with- 
out a struggle, but the policeman was a much 
stronger man than he, and he hurried him away 

with but little ceremony. 

11 


16*2 


REST OR UNREST. 


Edna sank down on the floor in the spot where 
she was released, smarting all over and sick with 
pain. 

“ I saved you a killing that time,” exclaimed Bob, 
triumphantly; “but I am afraid you are more dead 
than alive. You’d better go right over to granny’s. 
She seems kind o’ surly, but she means well, and 
she’ll doctor you up, I promise you.” 

Edna recalled the pint of soap which she had 
stolen from Mrs. Liscomb not long before, and felt 
that she could not go there. 

“ I don’t need any doctoring,” she said, getting 
up with an effort and taking a chair. “ I’ll soon be 
all right. I am much obliged to you.” 

So Bob went away to dispose of his papers “ be- 
fore they should get stale,” as he said ; and Edna 
after a little while made her way to the pail and got 
her a drink, and then, true to her feminine instincts, 
she went to the mirror to see how she looked. 
There was a cruel cut just over her right eye, from 
which the blood was starting. 

She got a basin of water and a towel to bathe 
the wound. Just as she was about to do so her 
bleeding face as she saw it in the glass seemed 
slowly to vanish from her sight. She felt a faint- 
ness coming over her and groped about for some- 
thing to i cling to. 

“ Poor, poor child ! ” She heard the words with 
a strange, far-off sound, and then there was entire 
darkness and forgetfulness. 

When she came to herself she was lying on a 


GLAD TIDINGS OF GOOD THINGS. 


163 


comfortable bed in a pleasant room, and a kind face 
was before her. 

“ O, Miss Ruth, where am I ? ” she asked. 

“ You are here at my home, and will be taken 
care of,” answered her friend, laying the baby’s little 
soft hand against the girl’s cheek. 

“ How did I come here?” pursued Edna. 

“Tell her that papa carried her,” replied the lady, 
smilingly addressing the little one, and still trying 
to divert Edna’s attention to the child. 

“ Where is your husband ? ” she asked, starting 
up in the bed. 

“ He has gone back to his work, and he wishes 
you to stay with us until he comes again,” was an- 
swered. 

“ O, I wish he was here to take me back. If father 
comes and finds me away he will beat me harder 
than ever next time ! ” exclaimed Edna. 

“ You need not be afraid,” was the answer, “ it 
will be arranged with regard to your father ; and now 
you have nothing to do but be comfortable, and 
help me to take care of baby when you are better. 
He is growing fond of you already ; see ! ’ she said, 
as the child of his own accord put his hand on her 
face. 

The soft touch of the tiny fingers brought the 
tears to the girl’s eyes. She might be hardened in 
wrong-doing, but there was yet one tender spot in 
her heart. 

“ I think I can get up and hold him awhile,” she 
said, trying to rise, and putting her hand into her 


164 


REST OR UNREST. 


pocket to learn whether or not the money was still 
in her possession. She had just remembered it for 
the first time. She found that it had not been dis- 
turbed, but again a faintness came over her and she 
lay back again on the pillow. 

“ Lie still and rest yourself. I will put baby on 
the bed beside you,” said her hostess ; “ and now 
let me tell you the good news,” she went on cheerily. 
“ Ever so many ministers have come to Blankton, 
and they are going to preach in all the churches 
and in the big hall at the corner of N Street every 
morning and evening. They are going to have 
meetings just for the children, and you must have 
some new clothes right away so that you can go.” 

Edna looked at her friend wonderingly. 

“You are puzzled to know why so many have 
come to Blankton. You see, there are two large 
conventions of ministers meeting in the city for the 
purpose o % f transacting business connected with the 
different churches, planning new ways to do good, 
and so on ; and while they are here they are going 
to give us plenty of sermons. Isn’t it good of 
them ? ” 

Edna did not feel very enthusiastic over the mat- 
ter, but the idea of the new clothes was not lost 
sight of, and she answered in the affirmative. 

To the poor, erring child, holding back the money 
which belonged to another, not with any intention 
of restoring it, but because her young heart had 
grown miserly, the thought of the gift of a new 
dress was very pleasant. She knew and cared noth- 


GLAD TIDINGS OF GOOD THINGS. 


165 


ing for the garments of salvation, the robe of the 
righteousness of Jesus Christ, provided for all who 
truly seek him and put their trust in him. 

Griffith Varney was not long kept in durance, 
nor was he long in seeking out his child and taking 
her away from the friends who wanted to do her 
good. Kind plans for the future of the drunkard’s 
daughter appeared to have failed. The evil one 
seemed to have thwarted all. But God is stronger 
than all the powers of evil, and dark and myste- 
rious as his dealings seemed, he had wrought in his 
own good time and way, and none had been able to 
hinder. 

Griffith Varney could compel his daughter to go 
back to the old, unattractive home and the life of 
toil, but during the brief respite of his imprison- 
ment she had gained something which he could not 
take away from her. She had heard the “ glad tid- 
ings of good things.” 

The messengers working for God and humanity 
might never know of this one soul among the many 
who heard and believed, but the news went up to 
the courts of heaven. 

Edna Varney had heard the name of Jesus before, 
but she had never heard the story of his life and 
death related as “the children’s minister ” told it 
to the little ones— the story of the God-man who 
longs to take the chikiren in his arms and bless 
them, as he did when h< re on earth. 

The love and tenderness of this One who had 
submitted to be treated with scorn and contempt, 


166 


REST OR UNREST. 


beaten, spit upon, and put to death for others, won 
the affection of a heart that, unknown to itself, had 
long been hungering for a love like this. 

Like the disciples of old, she was eager to tell 
others the good news, and at once on returning 
home began to talk of the Saviour whom she had 
found. Griffith Varney was startled by the earnest- 
ness with which the silent, sullen girl of other days 
spoke of things which he had heard in his father’s 
house, but which he had long since banished from 
his thoughts. 

He listened in a dazed way for a little while, and 
then, recovering himself, he roughly ordered her to 
“ stop her cant, and let him hear no more of it.” 

He went out about sundown and Edna left the 
house not long after. She was sad at her father’s 
rejection of the msssage, but there were others to 
be told and other work to be done. She must lose 
no time in setting out if she would walk in the 
footsteps of the Master. 

As twilight fell Edna hurried to the store of the 
Jew as fast as her feet would carry her. She found 
him alone, as she had hoped to do. 

“ O, Mr. Issachar,” she began, please come with 
me to the meeting to-night. They tell us so much 
about Jesus; and I am sure he must have been the 
right one, for he let them crucify him because he 
wanted to die for the sins.of the world. And O,” 
she added, bursting into tears, “ I love him because 
he died fpr me. You know I have been a bad, 
wicked girl, but he died even for me, and even for 


GLAD TIDINGS OF GOOD THINGS. 


167 


old Roxy down in the alley, and she has quit 
swearing and drinking and is quiet, and sorry for 
her badness ; and Bob, too, is ‘ almost persuaded,’ 
as they said in the song last night. Jesus must 
have been the Son of God, and I know you will 
think so when you hear all the wonderful things 
that he did.” 

Then, as if suddenly remembering, she fumbled 
in her pocket and drew out a roll of paper which 
she unwrapped, displaying to the astonished eyes 
of Mr. Issachar his long-mourned pocket-book. 
But what of the contents ? he thought. He took 
it up hurriedly and opened it without a word. 

“ It is all there except one of the smallest bills,” 
she said. “ I spent that for something for dinner, 
because I had lost the money which father gave me. 
I will pay it back if I ever can.” 

“ Where did you get it ?” he asked, finding words 
at length. 

“ I found it the same day you’ lost it. I heard 
you tell father about it, and I have kept it all this 
time. I wanted to keep it, awfully, but the minis- 
ter said last night that Jesus says to us all, ‘ If ye 
love me keep my commandments,’ and he said that 
Jesus commanded that we should do to everybody 
as we want them to do to us. That was not among 
the commandments I learned, but I reckon the 
preacher knows; and, besides, I feel like I want to 
do whatever Jesus would like, for I do love him be- 
cause he died for me! ” 

In the mind of Issachar the wonderful works of 


168 


REST OR UNREST. 


Jesus had been classed as “ impostures,” “pretend- 
ed miracles of the false Messiah.” But what was 
this? To the avaricious old man, to whom gain 
was dearer than life itself, the restoration of his 
money by this child of poverty, with all her trials 
and deprivations, was a startling miracle. 

There must be some strange power in a name 
that could bring about such a marvelous thing. He 
had known the girl as a liar and a thief, and here 
she was with tears in her eyes restoring that which 
she had found, not under pressure of the fear of 
the law ; not for the sake of the mother who had 
loved her, who had taught her lessons which in her 
poverty and wickedness she had cast aside unfeel- 
ingly, but for the sake of One who had died more 
than eighteen hundred years before she was born. 
A man whom his people had condemned to death 
as an impostor and a blasphemer! 

“ I thank you, child, for restoring the money,” he 
said at length. “ As for that which you spent ” — he 
^hesitated, and went and put the pocket-book in the 
drawer. Edna, heard him murmuring to himself : 
“Thou shalt open thine hand wide unto him, and 
shalt surely lend him sufficient for his need. . . . 
Thou shalt surely give him, and thine heart shall 
not be grieved when thou givest unto him ; because 
that for this thing the Lord thy God shall bless 
thee ... in all that thou puttest thine hand unto.” 

He locked the drawer and then unlocked it 
again, and, taking out one of the bills, looked at it 
for some time, and then with a quick movement, 


GLAD TIDINGS OF GOOD THINGS. 


160 


quite at variance with his usual slow deliberation of 
manner, he handed it to Edna, saying, “‘As for 
what is spent, let it go ; and here is another note 
for you. You deserve something for your honesty.” 
But the girl shrank from touching the money. 

“ O, no ; I was not honest,” she protested. “ I 
wanted to keep the whole of it. I only brought it 
back because He wanted me to do so.” 

“ Who? ” asked the old man, impelled to put the 
question by a motive which he could not under- 
stand. But the girl was to astonish him still more. 
The subject of a late discourse to which she had 
listened had been the crucifixion, and old Issachar 
fairly started as, recalling the words which the man 
of God had said were fastened on the cross, she 
answered solemnly, “Jesus of Nazareth, King of 
the Jews.” 

He looked at her attentively, but made no 
answer. 

“You will go with me to hear about him, will 
you not? ” she asked, imploringly. 

The old man moved about the shop, putting 
things in order and giving a touch here and there 
where none was needed. He made no reply, and 
seemed busy with his own thoughts. 

But presently he came back to where she stood 
and placed the money on the counter before her. 

“ Take it, my child,” he said. “ Let it be as the 
forgotten sheaf in the field or as the grapes left 
after the gleaning. You are poor and worse than 
fatherless, and the law is plain,” he concluded. 


170 


REST OR UNREST. 


Edna knew nothing of the Mosaic law to which 
the Jew made frequent reference, but she thanked 
him for the gift and went out. 

The old man followed her to the door, then, hes- 
itating for a moment, he stepped outside and, lock- 
ing it carefully after him, accompanied her down 
the street. 

Edna said no more. It was enough that their 
faces were turned toward the place of prayer and 
praise. 

Was it by chance that the evening lessons were 
those portions of Scripture in which our Saviour 
foretold the destruction of Jerusalem, with the 
specific prophecies of attending circumstances that 
were so minutely fulfilled, and his scathing denun- 
ciation of the hypocritical Pharisees who were blind 
leaders of the blind, ending with that beautiful, 
yearning exclamation of the full, loving heart so 
soon to be pierced at the instigation of those over 
whom he now wept : “ O, Jerusalem, Jerusalem, 

thou thou that killest the prophets, and stonest 
them which are sent unto thee, how often would I 
have gathered thy children together, even as a hen 
gathereth her chickens under her wings, and ye 
would not?” Matt. 23. 37. 

The man of God dwelt on the tenderness of Jesus 
and his sorrow of heart over what he foresaw was 
coming upon the Jews. He quoted many of the 
Master’s words which Issachar, well versed in the 
history of his nation, could not but know were lit- 
erally verified. His favorite historian, Josephus, 


GLAD TIDINGS OF GOOD THINGS. 


171 


had himself recorded the fulfillment of prophecies 
of the hated Galilean, which prophecies, with their 
particularities of detail, could not have been mere 
human conjecture, which can at best deal only in 
generalities. 

The goodness of God which leadeth us to repent- 
ance was powerfully portrayed, and many in that 
large audience received impressions that were not 
to be effaced. 

None but God knew what were the thoughts 
passing through the mind of the Jew as he sat be- 
side the earnest-faced child in one of the crowded 
galleries, listening for the first time to the preaching 
of the Gospel of that One whom he had been taught 
to reject ; hearing how he said to his disciples, 
concerning the magnificent temple which was the 
pride and glory of his people, the boasted bulwark 
of their national safety: “Verily I say unto you, 
there shall not be left here one stone upon another 
that shall not be thrown down ; ” how he said to 
the weeping women who followed him as he bore 
his cross to the place of execution, “ Daughters of 
Jerusalem, weep not for me, but weep for your- 
selves and for your children.” 

The listening Jew knew the dreadful after-scenes 
which, if foreknown, might well have caused the 
daughters of Jerusalem to mourn and lament. 

He knew that the days did come to the proud 
city when her enemies cast a trench about her and 
compassed her round and kept her in on every side. 
He knew that famine and murder had been the 


172 


REST OR UNREST 


portion of her people until the city was “ laid even 
with the ground and her children within her,” and 
it had been foretold that it should be so because 
she “knew not the time of her visitation!” Were 
these things so ? 

But to the Hebrew, with the life-long bias of his 
Judaism, no argument which words could bring 
was half so strong as the transformation wrought 
by the name of Jesus on the girl whose pleadings 
had to-night brought him to the Gentile house of 
worship. The service of the synagogue was more 
to his liking ; but could the rabbis who taught the 
law and the prophets to those of the scattered 
remnant of his people in the city adduce any thing 
more strikingly illustrative of the power of the great 
moral law received from Moses than the new life of 
this drunkard’s child, quickened, not by a knowl- 
edge of the lessons of the great teacher and leader 
of the Israelites, but simply by the name of 
Jesus ? 

Could it be possible that his people had rejected 
the Messiah ? Could it be possible that this Jesus 
was indeed the prophet of whom the Lord said unto 
Moses, “ I will raise them up a Prophet from among 
their brethren, like unto thee, and will put my 
words in his mouth ; and he shall speak unto them 
all that I shall command him. And it shall come 
to pass that whosoever will not hearken unto my 
words which he shall speak in my name, I will re- 
quire it of him.” Duet. 18. 18, 19. 

But among the crowds in the populous city of 


GLAD TIDINGS OF GOOD THINGS. 


173 


Blankton there were others whose names we know 
to whom “ the old, old story ” had come as new, 
as good news from a far country, refreshing as cold 
waters to a thirsty soul. 

When Mr. Summerville now made his Sunday 
visits to concert-hall, park, or museum, he went 
without the bright-eyed boy who had lately been 
seen with him every-where. Yet Allie Weldon’s 
eyes had lost none of their brightness, and his mind 
none of its keen appreciation of the beautiful and 
instructive, his life none of its youthful buoyancy 
because he heard and responded to the loving 
whisper, “ My son, give me thine heart.” The 
brother and sister rejoiced together in a new-found 
hope and joy. 

The young are often deterred from becoming 
followers of Christ by the thought that the life of 
a Christian is a life of gloom. It is not so. The 
real Christian has a truer, keener relish for all the 
pure joys of life than before, and, added to this, the 
restful hope of the glory that shall be revealed in 
the life that is to come. 

The loss of prohibited pleasures is abundantly 
recompensed, even in this world ; and when all 
earth's comforts pall on the taste, and sickness, 
old age, or even death, is at hand, then, even then, 
there is joy and peace. It was once said of a cheer- 
ful, happy aged man that he was a Christian, and 
it was strikingly added, “The devil has no glad old 
men ! ” 

My reader, it is worth the sacrifice of all the sin- 


174 


REST OR UNREST 


ful enjoyments this world can give to be able to 
rest on the strong arm of our heavenly Father 
with confidence and peace ; when all that we loved 
and prized here are passing away from us, to be 
able to say with Job, “ I know that my Redeemer 
liveth.” 


WONG'S WARNING. 


175 


CHAPTER XIY. 


WONG’S WARNING. 


If ye continue in my word , then are ye my disciples indeed ; 
and ye shall know the truth , arid the truth shall make 
you free . — John 8. 31, 32. 

RUE to the promise of his college days, Allen 



X Summerville, on reaching the editorial chair 
of a city newspaper, made use of its columns in 
fearless discussion of the topics of the times. His 
paper had a wide circulation, and was quoted as 
authority on subjects of grave importance by the 
lesser lights of journalism. Allied to no party, he 
claimed to stand upon a broad base in a champion- 
ship for “ right and reason,” and his motto was, 
“ Let truth prevail though the heavens fall.” 

Yet the question, “ What is truth? ” was one to 
which he in reality gave as little sincere, earnest 
thought as did Pilate when he asked that question 
of Him who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life, 
contemptuously turning away without waiting for 
an answer, notwithstanding he had just been told 
by the great Teacher, “ He that is of the truth 
heareth my voice.” 

The editor and publisher of The Telescope thought 
that in attacking unsparingly what he had once 
designated as worn out and exploded theories 
he was helping on the enlightenment of the age ; 


176 


REST OR UNREST. 


the more fearlessly he wrote of the emancipation 
of the world from “ the narrowness of weak creeds 
and antique ideas ” the more he believed himself 
in reality a champion of the truth and light. 

It is true that he did attack many things that 
were evil. There were perpetrators of wrong whose 
deeds were brought to light ; whose outward seem- 
ing of honor and honesty were shown to be 
but masks by the tireless instrumentality of The 
Telescope. With its wide, sweeping range, it dis- 
covered much of apparent evil in high places, 
but lost sight of palpable wrong that was near at 
hand. 

There was a good deal in common between Mr. 
Summerville arrd his old friend and class-mate, 
Osmond Young, though there was often a wide 
divergence in their opinions. 

One evening not long after Osmond’s return to 
Blankton the two were walking on the outskirts of 
the city, when they were joined by a Chinaman, who 
had been an employe of the railroad company of 
which Mr. Ball was president. He had been em- 
ployed with others in the “ making up ” of freight 
trains, but had lately refused to work. 

When interrogated by Osmond he said : • 

“ Melican man come over, teachee heathen Chi- 
nee muchee long workee Sunday. Wong come to 
Melican countlee, muchee more workee Sunday. 
No more muchee flaid long ; muchee tired,” added 
Wong, with a grin. 

“Hear him !” said Osmond. “He has learned 


WONG'S WARNING. 


177 


in America not to be afraid that it is wrong to work 
on Sunday. He has quit because he is tired.” 

“ I guess it is the long work that troubles most of 
us,” laughed Summerville, enjoying his pun, man- 
ufactured from Wong’s difficulty with the letter r. 
He was a little disappointed that Osmond did not 
seem to have heard the joke, and it was against his 
principles to repeat a witticism. He said it lost its 
fine edge by duplicating. 

“ What are you going to do ? ” he asked the 
Chinaman. 

“ No sabe,” said Wong. 

“ Prevaricating Mongolian ! ” laughed the ques- 
tioner. “ I’ll venture he is going to start a gam- 
bling-house or an opium den. The trouble is, he 
understands too well the wily heathen. But, speak- 
ing of dens for opium smoking, do you know, 
Young, I have often thought, when both body and 
brain-weary, that I should like to try the witching 
spell of madjoon myself?” 

“ Do you know I have often thought — ” began 
Osmond, and then stopped short. 

“ That I was a sorry enough dog in the old col- 
lege days, but am even worse now ? ” supplemented 
Summerville, laughing still. 

“Well, you are not far wrong” replied Osmond. 
“My thoughts ran somewhat after that fashion, 
though framed with a trifle more of regard to po- 
liteness, perhaps. Ah, Summerville, an habitual 
violation of the laws of God and man can have no 
tendency to quicken the moral perceptions.” 

12 


178 


REST OR UNREST. 


Summerville flushed slightly, and with a not very 
successful attempt at indifference, asked: 

“ Is the indictment for murder, robbery, or 
what ?” 

“ Sabbath-breaking, with both the others in- 
cluded,” replied Osmond, firmly ; “ though I do 
not speak as an umpire of others. I have but lately 
escaped from the same pit. But it is needless to 
say that both your Sunday and Monday issues in- 
volve Sunday labor, and that there is a law on the 
statute-books prohibiting this. It is evident that 
you rob your employes of the day of rest which all 
law, physical, mental, and moral, demands. 

“You wrote some powerful editorials about the 
riots last year. Why did you not go further and 
aim your shafts at the great first causes of these 
lawless proceedings — the gradual weakening of re- 
gard for all authority, both human and divine, by 
constantly breathing an atmosphere redolent of 
lawlessness ? 

“ I tell you, you inconoclasts and ‘ enlighteners 
of the people ’ will be held responsible for much of 
the crime that crowds our jails and State prisons. 
You lop off an evil here and there, then attempt 
the demolition of that which is good, but fails to 
meet your favor, and pass by the real root of wrong.” 

Summerville switched off the heads of some road- 
side weeds with his cane and smiled in an indul- 
gent manner, as who should say, “ He is mounted 
on his hobby now, let him have his ride.” 

“ But look at the matter from a personal stand- 


WONG'S WARNING. 


179 


point,” went on his friend. “ You have just made 
a confession which, while it pains, does not in the 
least surprise me. You admit a weakness, and a 
craving for relief from the body and brain weari- 
ness which you incur by rejecting the good pro- 
vided. You are losing physical, mental and moral 
strength. You have clinched one of the strongest 
arguments advanced for the observance of the day 
of rest. The question has been fairly tested again 
and again. Forty years ago crowds of the most 
eminent men of the time convened in Baltimore in 
a ‘ National Lord’s Day Convention,’ presided over 
by John Quincy Adams, and what were the views 
taken by these statesmen and other prominent 
men who had studied the subject?” 

“ I’m sure I can’t tell for the life of me,” said 
Summerville. 

“ Then by your permission I will mention some 
of them. I once committed a part of the address 
adopted for a school speech, and I can give it ver- 
batim .” 

“ Hear, hear ! ” said Summerville. 

Osmond, ignoring this attempt at lightness, con- 
tinued : 

“The ordinary effects of systematic violations of the 
Lord’s day by men of business, or professional men, 
are less clearness of perception and power of discrimi- 
nation and soundness of judgment, and generally 
a diminution of intellectual vigor, often followed 
by a breaking down of the overtasked mental fac- 
ulties ; in other instances the results are lunacy and 


180 


REST OR UNREST. 


self-murder. In short, moral and religious consid- 
erations apart, nothing is gained by a violation of 
the divine command ; a truth often learned too late. 
If a man would make the most of himself in all re- 
spects he will do well to ‘ remember the Sabbath 
day, to keep it holy.’ ” 

“ Well, that is authority, I admit,” replied Sum- 
merville ; “ but the worthy fathers refer particularly 
to men of intellectual pursuits. Does it not strike 
you that they lost sight of the wear and tear of 
brain labor, which might have produced the effects 
they name whether a man shut up his office and 
went to church on Sunday or not? ” 

Osmond stopped abruptly in his walk. 

“ See here, Wong,” he said, addressing the China- 
man, who still kept near, “ here is some money to 
keep you until to-morrow. Meet me here at about 
this time, and if you will promise truly to do what 
I shall ask you I will let you have enough to set 
you up in a laundry.” 

Wong rolled his oblique eyes with satisfaction. 

“ Me sabe. All light ; me come,” he said, and 
started off in the opposite direction. 

Summerville would have indulged in another joke 
but he was busy thinking how cleverly he had van- 
quished his opponent on the Sunday question. If 
he had not already begun indeed to succumb 
to the effects of the system which he was defend- 
ing he would have seen that his ground was 
untenable. Even while he was congratulating 
himself Osmond resumed the argument. 


WONG’S WARNING. 


181 


“ Pardon the interruption,” he began, “ but 
what do you say, Summerville, about the results 
of the wear and tear of brain labor ? What of 
Zeno and Thucydides and Xenophon and Plato? 
What of Noah Webster and John Wesley? What 
of Herschel, Newton and Franklin? What of the 
great and good D’Aubigne, and a host of others 
who were brain toilers and long-lived men ? Does 
not history bear out the belief that active intellect- 
ual pursuits are conducive both to mental energy 
and longevity ? ” 

Whatever of reason or sophistry Summerville 
was about to call to his assistance at this juncture 
was never known. 

Wong burst upon the scene again, out of breath 
with running, and began jabbering in a way that 
no one could understand, gesticulating violently 
meanwhile. At last Osmond told him to be silent, 
and managed by questions to elicit a few coherent 
replies. 

“Burnee, burnee ; ” he said waving his hand 
toward the railroad buildings. “ No more payee, 
no Sunday, burnee ! Watchee all night,” he advised. 

“ To-night ? this night ? ” asked Osmond. 

Wong gave an affirmative, adding “ Get plentee 
men. Me no goodee, keep safee,” and away he 
scampered, his long cue flying behind him. 

The two lookers on could not keep from laughing 
at the queer flying figure in its short wide trousers 
and flowing sleeves, in spite of the gravity of the 
situation. 


182 


REST OR UNREST. 


“ If what the fellow says is true there is no time . 
to be lost,” said Summerville, as Osmond con- 
sulted his watch. “ The first train is due in less 
than an hour. You would better see Colonel Wil- 
cox and have him send down a company or two at 
once.” 

“ I am afraid the sight of the military would only 
precipitate a crisis which may be avoided,” replied 
Osmond. “ Perhaps Wong has magnified the danger. 
Besides, I have no authority in the matter. I am 
not connected with the company in any way. I 
shall of course report the case immediately, and I 
hope that matters may be adjusted without resort 
to violence. 

“ I know many of these men, and I feel sure that 
they may be influenced by common sense and 
reason.” 

“ All right,” answered his companion, “ I expect 
to be furnished with several columns of startlingly 
interesting railroad news. Good evening. I give 
myself somewhat the same valuation as Wong, and 
like him shall keep myself safe.” 

Osmond hastened home to place the matter 
before the president. 

He found the carriage at the door and Mrs. Ball 
waiting for him to drive out with her. 

“ Can I see you in your office for a few minutes, 
Uncle Norman?” he asked. 

“ Has something happened, Osmond ? ” in- 
quired his aunt, seeing that there was something 


amiss. 


WONG'S WARNING. 


183 


“ Nothing serious, auntie, a business complica- 
tion,” answered the young man, cheerfully. But 
when the two were alone together Osmond’s face 
took on a more serious expression. He told his 
uncle briefly of the warning he had received from 
Wong. 

The elder man became excited at once. 

“ This is the fruit of that fanatical Sunday peti- 
tion* which you remember,” he exclaimed. ‘‘Pretty 
fellows they are, to whine about religion one day 
and plan incendiarism the next ! ” 

“ I think,” answereds Omond, “ it is rather the 
infection of the strikes that are prevailing in so 
many sections just now. But I doubt not it might 
have been prevented here by a consideration of the 
wishes of the men upon the Sunday question. You 
will remember our men did not ask for higher 
wages, Uncle Norman.” 

“ They asked the same thing — the privilege of 
loafing one day out of every week ; thus putting a 
dead-lock on every-thing. They deserve to be 
shown no quarter. I shall see Colonel Wilcox at 
once, and get the military to prescribe for the 
rascals.” 

“ Where is Julian ? ” asked Osmond. 

“ Who knows ? ” answered Mr. Ball irascibly. 
“ He is absent half the time lately. His alien 
interests seem to grow and increase. I shall be 
heartily glad when they are finally adjusted — if they 
ever are.” 

The speaker was very pale, and looked harassed 


] S4 


REST OR UNREST. 


beyond description. In that moment Osmond felt 
that he could bear almost any thing for his uncle’s 
sake. 

“You would better go and take a drive, uncle,” 
he urged. “ I will see the colonel myself, and give 
him your message.” 

After a little persuasion he consented, and 
Osmond hurried away to look after the railroad 
property. He went to the head-quarters of the 
military and delivered the request for troops ; then 
hastening on he sought the depot in the hope of 
being able to do something to render the presence 
of the soldiers unnecessary, or to allay in some 
measure the fury which he knew the sight of them 
would awaken. 

As he neared the spot he could not but be struck 
with the fact that numbers of men were assembling 
there from all directions. The impending trouble 
appeared to be widely known. Some of the crowd 
were evidently quiet, well-meaning citizens, who 
were gathering merely as spectators : but others 
showed by their air and manner and the dogged 
determination of their faces that they were coming 
from no feelings of curiosity. 

They crowded together and awaited the arrival 
of the train without a word, but with the mien of 
men whose action is preconcerted. 

A number of them boarded the train as soon as 
it stopped. Osmond, who went among the 
rest, was surprised to find the coaches filled with 
laborers, and later to see McLane, the engineer, sit- 


WONG'S WARNING. 


185 


ting under guard while another man stood at the 
throttle. 

“ The blow has come,” he said to Osmond. 
“ Believe me, I did all I could to avert it.” 

“ I do not doubt it,” answered Osmond, heartily. 
“ But what is it they demand? and what do they 
propose to do ? ” 

“ I’ll answer that question, my fine fellow,” said 
the other man, insolently. “ We make a demand 
for higher wages, as working-men are doing every- 
where just now ; and if it isn’t granted we propose 
to use the torch freely. Is that plain?” 

“ Plain enough,” answered Osmond ; “ but Mr. 
Ball is not to be coerced into any measure. I am 
in hopes, however, that he will reconsider your 
wishes and give you Sunday soon.” 

The crowd that was gathered around the speaker 
hissed their contempt. 

“ Just what this fellow has been telling us off and 
on for months,” said one, pointing to the engineer. 

“ We did ask for Sunday,” put in another, 
“ though few of us are religious chaps. We knew 
we had a right to it — that the law gives it to us, in 
fact. But did we get it ? ” 

“ Not as any body knows of,” yelled another 
voice. “It’s work on, work on, like the labor of 
the slaves in the Siberian mines. We have let up 
an the Sunday question. We don’t cringe and beg 
for any thing now. We demand an increase of 
salary, and we mean to have it.” 

Osmond tried again. 


186 


REST OR UNREST. 


“ But the president has heard of this, and has 
sent an order for troops. They may be here at 
any moment. Let me advise you, as a friend, to 
avoid a conflict which must end in your defeat, 
judging from any reasonable stand-point.” 

The caution was met with jeers. 

“ Don’t be too sure of the defeat,” called out 
one. “ There’s another train due in a few min- 
utes, and there are other weapons besides mus- 
kets.” 

It was all in vain. The men had no ear for rea- 
son, and some of them looked like fit tools for 
almost any crime. But Osmond stood fearlessly 
among them, and it must be said that in spite of 
their jeers they felt some respect for him. , 

As he stood considering what to do next he 
heard one of the men say, 

“ There are some oil trains and car-loads of 
grain that will make a splendid bonfire.” 

“ Where is Ball, the great capitalist ?” demanded 
another. “ Why isn’t he here to learn what we 
want ? ” 

“ He will not be here to-night,” answered 
Osmond ; “ but he knows what you want, and if it 
comes to a riot he will send you his answer by the 
military. You could not have chosen a more 
effectual way to rouse all the latent opposition there 
is in him.” 

* 

“ Let it rouse ! ” yelled the men ; “ he will find 
there is some on the other side as well.” 

Argument was worse than useless. The dark 


WONG'S WARNING. 


187 


passions of the infuriated toilers were momentarily 
growing darker as the twilight of early evening 
was deepening. 

A dense cloud just above the western horizon 
was looming up, with its dusky form outlined 
against the sky, as if symbolical of the approaching 
tempest of human strife. 

Who could foretell the result ? 


188 


RES 7' OR UNREST. 


CHAPTER XY. 

REAPING THE WHIRLWIND. 

For they have sown the wi?id, and they shall reap the whirl- 
wind : it hath no stalk ; the bud shall yield no meal: if 
so be it yield, the strangers shall swallow it up. — Hos. 8. 7. 

T HE darkness deepened, and the cloud gathered 
blackness, while fresh relays of strikers with 
their sympathizers swelled the crowd at or near 
M Street depot. 

The troops had not yet made their appearance, 
and the headlight of the coming train was visible in 
the distance. That sight was greeted by a yell of 
triumph from the ringleaders in the movement. 

“ Where is that chap who was talking of defeat 
just now?” asked a rough, smoke-begrimed man, 
looking around. 

“ I am here,” answered Osmond, firmly, “ and 
yonder are the Wilcox* men, just filing into M 
Street. They will reach the depot before the train. 
You would do well to reconsider this matter while 
there is time. It will be just as I told you. If it 
comes to a conflict between you and the soldiers 
your defeat is certain. You may hurt, perhaps kill 
some of them, but it is morally certain that they 
will kill many of you. They are well-disciplined 
and well-armed, as you will learn ; and how many 
that will be called to-night are ready to go ? ” 


REAPING THE WHIRLWIND. 189 

The engineer muttered an oath and blew a signal, 
and the coming locomotive, quickening its speed, 
seemed to fly along the track. 

“The race is not always to the swift nor the 
battle to the strong,” said a prosing voice, and 
added, incongruously, “ He laughs best who laughs 
last.” “Go and hire a hall for your speech,” said 
one of the men to Osmond. “We are not attend- 
ing lectures.” 

“ No sermons for us to-night,” said another. 

“ Perhaps it is the last you will hear,” suggested 
McLane. 

“ I hope it is,” was the reckless answer. “ We 
fellows have been on the track Sundays until we 
have lost our relish for go-to-meeting talk. Some 
of us used to go to church regularly when we could 
be at home. If we have been mere machines so 
long that we have no appetite for pulpit chat, who’s 
to blame ? ” 

“ Bring on your military. A man must die some 
time, anyhow, and when life gets to be a burden 
that’s as good a time as any,” spoke another. 

Defiance and determination sounded from all sides ; 
yet despite this fact there was a thrill of something 
very near akin to fear running through the crowd as 
the clear tones of the commanding officer rang out 
on the air, and the dark forms in the twilight ap- 
proached, shoulder to shoulder — their trained move- 
ments as the movements of one man, and their 
muskets gleaming in the fading light. Another 
order sharply given and promptly executed, and the 


190 


REST OR UNREST. 


opposing companies stood face to face, with the 
railroad track between them ; the one ready to act 
in concert, swiftly and effectively, the other un- 
disciplined, unorganized, but unswerving in a de- 
termination not to yield. 

One of the rioters, bolder than his companions, 
and acting under the influence of liquor as well as 
mutiny, lighted a torch and applied it to a car 
loaded with grain. 

The sight of the fire seemed to inflame the 
others, and, not waiting for the re-enforcement 
which was just at hand, they began their incendiary 
work as if challenging the soldiers to the fray. 

Captain Hendon ordered them to desist and dis- 
perse, and was answered by a yell of defiance and 
a shot fired into the ranks from some one among 
the rioters. 

There was another order, and another yell, ac- 
companied by such missiles as the mob found at 
hand. One of the soldiers was wounded in the 
temple, and fell in his place. 

The men were then ordered to fire, and the 
death-dealing hail of balls poured into the mob. 

A moment later there came as it had been an 
avalanche of stones, large and small, from the hill- 
side behind the troops. The lawless spirit had 
spread to different manufacturing establishments, 
and the soldiers found themselves almost sur- 
rounded. They were compelled to retreat to the 
round-house, carrying their disabled with them. 

The scene that followed defies description. The 


REAPING THE WHIRLWIND . 191 

blazing trains of oil and grain lighted up the 
country for miles around, and the shouts of the 
rioters, drowning the groans of the injured, were 
like the shrieks of evil spirits. 

The re-enforcement brought by the second train, 
together with the rally of the mob on the hill-side, 
gave the leaders of the riot fresh courage, and they 
walked over the bodies of the fallen to carry on the 
work of destruction. 

The wind blew in violent gusts, but no rain fell. 
The lightning, flashing every now and then, defined 
the great black cloud that seemed to hang like fate 
above the hill, and the low deep thunder muttered 
ominously. 

“ Fire the round-house and smoke out the rats,” 
yelled a voice, and scores of hands were ready to 
run the blazing cars into proximity with the build- 
ing in which the military had taken refuge. « 

But the tide turned speedily as several new com- 
panies appeared on the scene, and a murmur of 
“Gatling guns ! ” ran through the crowd. The spot 
was cleared with almost incredible rapidity. 

In the light of the fires there were indeed some 
seen remaining, but they were of those who were 
unable to fly. They lay, some writhing in their 
blood, some prone on their faces, motionless, 
others with wide open, staring eyes fixed ap- 
parently on the black cloud overhead. 

About midnight the rain began to fall. The 
morning showed a picture of utter desolation — 
smoking ruins, goods scattered about, dropped by 


192 


REST OR UNREST. 


pillagers and trampled under foot ; the dead and the 
dying lying in the rain which added to the gloom 
of the dark picture. 

Meanwhile the demon of disorder, routed in one 
quarter, had set his emissaries at work in different 
portions of the city. 

It was the Sabbath ; the day which was usually a 
gala day to a large part of the crowded population, 
who chose to make Sunday as like to that of the 
great French metropolis as possible. It was the 
Parisian Sunday still ; not the saturnalia which so 
many loved, but that of which the gay city has had 
her full share— a day of revolution, of communism, 
of anarchy. 

We hear of men who are and desire to be more 
and more teachers and umpires of the people, say- 
ing that the old-fashioned Sabbath must give way 
before the march of civilization ; that the time is 
past when it can be observed with the Puritanic 
strictness of other days ; that we live in an age of 
broader thought and swifter action ; that men can- 
not and will not be hampered by such trammels 
upon their freedom. They say that the Sunday 
mail, the Sunday newspaper, the Sunday train, the 
Sunday place of resort for eating and drinking, for 
amusement and recreation, are all necessities. 

Some of these logicians profess to believe in God, 
and talk of the claims of Christianity ; and yet they 
set aside the law which Christ himself came to ful- 
fill. They argue, in effect, that God did not know 
to what a wonderful stature of wisdom, to what a 


REA PING THE WHIRLWIND . 


193 


marvelous height of refined civilization his creatures 
would one day attain, and therefore could not pro- 
vide laws for their governance that would not event- 
ually become effete and worthless. 

Is not such reasoning fully 3s insulting to the 
omnipotent and omniscient Jehovah as disbelief in 
his existence? Is it not virtually denying his God- 
head ? 

Let us beware. We may amend, annex, or ex- 
purgate the faulty books of man, but wo to him 
who lays unholy hands upon the law of God ! Ter- 
rible, indeed, is the penalty affixed to the sin of 
adding unto or taking from the words of the Book 
of books! 

But God has written a book of the history of 
nations which those who claim to be wiser than 
their Maker would do well to consider. 

Leaving out of the question the records of the 
Jews— with their blind fulfillment to the letter of 
prophecies which they failed to understand, their 
madly self-inflicted penalties for the commission of 
the very sin which we are considering — let us come 
down to our own times, and look at the nation whose 
sins we as a people seem in many localities and in 
many respects trying to ape to-day, and the penalty 
of which we are already reaping. 

Does the history of France, with its social and 
political upheavals, written in tears and blood, pre- 
sent a chapter which we would like to make our 
own ? 

What nation can boast a higher “ civilization ” or 
13 


194 


REST OR UNREST. 


a greater contempt for the Sabbath and kindred ob- 
ligations? And we are following on apace. French 
philosophy is affected on American soil. Infidelity 
boasts of its triumphs over religion. That the boast 
is false is not the fault of the haters of the Bible ! 
There are efforts made to inaugurate a “morality” 
that may claim as right whatever it chooses to do, 
and the “ liberty ” of a Sunday like that of the 
Champs Elys£es, the Tuileries, or the Bois de Bou- 
logne. Shall we go on to the perfection of a “ civil- 
ization ” which is based on an utter ignoring of the 
commandments of God? 

The city of Blankton was having a lesson laid 
before her on that day of terror ; whether or not 
she would profit by it remained to be seen. 

Those who believed that the Creator of the uni- 
verse is God — and not man, that he should relax or 
repeal his laws — could trace the effect unmistakably 
back to its cause. 

President Ball, together with other officials and 
stockholders in the property which had been so 
wantonly destroyed, and whose very homes were 
menaced by the infuriated mob, could not but know 
that the movement originated with their own em- 
ployes ; men whom they had compelled, contrary to 
the known wishes of many of them, to perpetrate 
the weekly sin of “ running over the fourth com- 
mandment.” And while it cannot be claimed that 
all of the men asking for relief from Sabbath labor 
would have spent the day properly, many of them 
would at least have spent it quietly at home with 


REAPING THE WHIRLWIND. 


195 


their families, and the result of the privilege would 
have been better men and better workmen. But 
week after week the wind had been sown, and to- 
day was the harvest of the whirlwind. 

It was a Sunday long to be remembered ; terribly 
suggestive, to those whose minds were open to con- 
viction, of the difference between the teachings of 
Christianity and the legitimate result of liberalism. 
Sabbath in the city of Blankton was never free from 
desecration, but to-day those who opposed even 
its civil observance found their cup full to over- 
flowing. 

The military patrolled the streets all day, follow- 
ing up the bands of rioters who, having had a taste 
of destruction, could not be satiated. People who 
escaped unharmed remained close in their houses, 
peering through their closed shutters with pale 
faces as the conflict went on, and men were seen 
falling on both sides. They were having their 
choice. They had elected to have the Parisian 
carnival day instead of the Sabbath, and to-day it 
was as if they were having a Sunday out of the 
Reign of Terror and of Robespierre, or the later 
tragedy of the coup d'etat. 

It was over at last. When the sun went down 
the mob had been routed every-where, and order 
was in a measure restored ; but at what a cost 
who was able to estimate? The loss of property 
had been great, but incomparable to that of the 
many human lives that went out in the darkness of 
that conflict. 


196 


REST OR UNREST. 


There were homes over which had fallen the pall 
of sorrow ; and, alas ! that it should ever be so, 
there were homes which the hand of death had 
freed from fetters of cruelty and oppression. Among 
these latter was the home of Edna Varney, the 
drunkard’s daughter. 


THE SUNDAY NEWSPAPER. 


197 


CHAPTER XYI. 


THE SUNDAY NEWSPAPER. 

When I saw among the spoils a goodly Babylonish garment, 
and two hundred shekels of silver , and a wedge of gold of 
fifty shekels weight, then I coveted them, and took them ; 
and, behold, they are hid in the earth in the midst of my 
tent , and the silver under it. — Josh. 7. 21. 



HE tide of evil in Blankton apparently flowed 


X on unchecked by the recent disaster, which 
seemed to leave no impression save the blackened 
ruins, which marks of violence were soon effaced 
by the hand of industry. 

But wide-spread efforts were being made for 
the emancipation of the city and the land from the 
curse which threatened the very existence of law 
and order. 

The large ecclesiastical bodies which had lately 
met in conference had discussed with deep earnest- 
ness and seriousness the signs of the times, and 
resolved upon renewed efforts in the cause of good. 

The Sabbath question was widely and wisely con- 
sidered, and many of the evils with which the world 
is afflicted were traced directly to the violation of 
the command written not only on the tables of stone, 
but in the physical, intellectual and moral nature of 
man himself. 

It was prayerfully decided to redouble previous 


198 


REST OR UNREST. . 


efforts to perpetuate and strengthen the institution 
upon which rests our very life as a nation. To this 
end a more careful circumspection was recommended 
in all things pertaining to the requirements of the 
holy day. 

The editor of The Telescope came out not long 
after in a broadside charge of hypocrisy on the 
part of the different religious bodies which had 
voted a reform of Sunday abuses, including the 
buying and reading of newpapers on that day. He 
stated that the Sunday Telescope was indispensable 
to all, and contained, moreover, all the religious 
teaching that any one needed ; and that the people 
must and would have it. 

Had he not been himself the publisher of a news- 
paper with a boastedly large circulation the personal 
feeling displayed might not have been so plainly 
perceptible. But living, as he did, in a large city 
whose criminal record was hardly surpassed by any 
other, and where evil seemed constantly on the 
increase in spite of the beneficial effects of the in- 
dispensable Sunday newspaper, it would have been 
reasonable to expect that a true philanthropy would 
be ready for any experiment of reform that so many 
of the wise and good should consider expedient. 

There may have been unworthy members in the 
assemblies of good men who had met from time to 
time to consider the best methods of advancing 
the cause of Christ on earth. The twelve who fol- 
lowed Jesus in his ministry could count a Judas in 
their midst, and human nature is often , subject .to 


THE SUNDAY NEWSPAPER. 


199 


infirmity even among the truly sincere ; but one 
who could thus indiscriminately charge with hypoc- 
risy large bodies of men bearing the vows of conse- 
cration to God’s service surely merited no higher 
name than that of calumniator. 

There were those who praised and toasted the 
editor of The Telescope for this attack on the. gospel 
ministry, this unmistakable accusation of unprin- 
cipled conduct in the solemn deliberations of their 
respective associations, from which he said they 
would return to their homes to practice that which 
they had so unsparingly condemned. 

Such a virulent assault from one who had claimed 
to be on the side of the highest good of all, a boasted 
loyalist to the right, could not but be highly agree- 
able to the enemies of morality and religion. Those 
who, like him, desired to vend their wares on the 
Sabbath, and wished no interference, of course took 
up the hue and cry of hypocrisy and sent it round. 

Yet there were multitudes of others who looked 
upon the matter in a different light, and were made 
by this wholesale slander to lose faith in Mr. Sum- 
merville in proportion to the lack of honesty which 
he charged upon those who claimed solemnly to be 
the servants of the most high God, striving for the 
relief of men from the crushing burden of their sin 
and sorrow. 

There were those among the most intelligent of 
his patrons who questioned the wisdom of admitting 
into their families and placing ip the hands of 
their children a paper whose editor claimed such 


200 


REST OR UNREST. 


pitiful skepticism regarding the truth and sincerity 
of the highest type of humanity on earth. If The 
Telescope grew in favor with those who hasten with 
the multitude to do evil, it sank in the estimation 
of a better class of readers. 

The issue of Sunday newspapers and their sale on 
that day is virtually a violation of the law which pro- 
hibits Sunday labor, even when the sale is permitted. 
The law forbidding all trades, manufactures and 
mechanical employments on the Sabbath is violated 
in this way, and the fact cannot be disputed. For 
nothing but the weakest sophistry, based on purely 
selfish considerations, can attempt the argument 
that Sunday newspapers are a necessity. 

A well-known secular journal of New York once 
published a protest addressed to the Police Board 
against the growing violations of the Sunday law in 
that city. The editor stated that the list of signa- 
tures embraced the best representatives of almost 
every calling in life in New York; and in a leader 
on the subject he said : 

“ We propose to leave the sacredness of Sunday 
to the Sabbatarians and their opponents, . . . but 
the question of the Christian weekly day of rest, as 
it has existed for centuries among us and our fore- 
fathers, is one of great importance to the public 
morals, the public health, and the general welfare. * A 
few years ago such a discussion would have seemed 
absurd, . . . but we live at a rapid rate nowadays, 
and a great change is threatened in this respect, 

. . . Business houses and beer-shops naturally follow 


THE SUNDAY NEWSPAPER. 


201 


the impulse given to Sabbath-breaking by houses 
of amusement, and, if we may judge by the symp- 
toms visible in the Bowery, New York promises 
soon to be a busier town on Sunday than any capital 
on the continent of Europe. 

“ Now, without bringing into play any theological 
considerations whatever, we hold that it is against 
the public interest that the distinctions, between 
Sunday and the other days of the week should be 
abolished. Rest on one day in seven is absolutely 
necessary for the mental and bodily health of all 
who labor. ... It causes a break in the wearing 
and destructive pursuits of life. It changes those 
currents of busy thought which seem to have some- 
thing corroding in them. It gives one day for the 
recuperation of the vital forces wasted in the pre- 
ceding six. These are its obvious physical ad- 
vantages, but incalculably greater are its moral ! ” 

Enough. This, my reader, is the testimony of 
one who cannot be styled by would-be critics “ a 
canting parson ” — a secular editor, who leaves the 
question of Sabbath sanctity to “ Sabbatarians and 
their opponents,” but who clearly sees and hon- 
estly admits the beneficent effects of the day. 

And just here the question is pertinent, In how 
far is the Sunday perusal of newspapers promotive 
of the “ break in the wearing, destructive pursuits of 
life ? ” In how far does it antagonize those “currents 
of busy thought which seem to have something cor- 
roding in them ? ” There may be bodily rest for 
the man who, instead of going to his office, shop or 


202 


REST OR UNREST. 


counting-room, sits in his home and pores over the 
columns of his daily, noting the state of the mar- 
ket, the quotations of stocks, the account of firms 
which went into bankruptcy yesterday, the liabilities 
of the banks that have lately failed and the causes 
which precipitated the various disasters, railroad 
news, civil and foreign affairs, politics, and the bot- 
tomless pit of criminal intelligence, together with 
a flavoring of moral sentiment well expressed, 
perhaps even a sermon from some celebrated clergy- 
man. 

As a whole is the Sunday newspaper, dealing 
largely in the things dwelt upon through all the 
other six days, calculated to afford any relief to the 
tension of the tired mind, any relaxtion of the men- 
tal strain ? 

It may be said that no one is compelled to read 
the newspapers if his mind is wearied with secular 
things. True, and no man is compelled to end his 
own life by violence ; yet does not common humanity 
prompt the effort to prevent if possible the com- 
mission of suicide ? that crime which is growing with 
such fearful rapidity, and between which and Sab- 
bath-breaking there is thought to be no slight con- 
nection, by many thoughtful minds. 

The story of Achan and his sin is one that stands 
out prominently on the page of history. It began 
in avarice and led on to the further sins of covetous- 
ness, disobedience, robbery, and sacrilege. 

The people had not only been forbidden to take 
to themselves the spoils of. Jericho, but the gold 


TIIE SUNDAY NEWSPAPER. 


20,‘J 


and silver were set apart for the treasury of the 
Lord. The love of gain thus led its slave to the 
sin of laying hands on that which belonged to God. 

The trouble which he brought upon others and 
the fearful punishment which waS meted out to 
him need no recital. The story is weighty with 
lessons for us to-day. How many who would start 
at the thought of defrauding the Lord are habitually 
guilty of this very sin ! 

God charged the Jews with robbing him in that 
they refused to bring the offerings which he required 
at their hands ; and how many to-day refuse him 
not only their offerings of money, labor and time, 
but positively steal from him for their own use that 
which he has set apart for himself and consecrated 
as holy ! 

He has given us six days for our work and recrea- 
tion, and has reserved the seventh for himself, prom- 
ising, “ If thou turn away thy foot from the Sab- 
bath, from doing thy pleasure on my holy day ; 
and call the Sabbath a delight, the holy of the Lord, 
honorable ; and shalt honor him, not doing thine 
own ways, nor finding thine own pleasure, nor speak- 
ing thine own words : then shalt thou delight thyself 
in the Lord ; and I will cause thee to ride upon the 
high places of the earth, and feed thee with the 
heritage of Jacob thy father; for the mouth of the 
Lord hath spoken it.” Isa. 58. 13, 14. 

After having appropriated the other six days for 
our own pleasure and profit do we then rob God of 
his.Qne.day, and trample it .under our feet in labor 


204 


REST OR UNREST. 


or amusement? The question of our obligations to 
God in this matter is of far greater importance 
than any other. We may heap up riches and enjoy 
to the full such pleasures as the world has to offer 
to its votaries ; but the time will come when all of 
these will, like the goodly Babylonish garment, the 
silver and the wedge of gold, prove accursed, and 
serve but as tokens against us. 

There was never a time in the history of our na- 
tion when such strenuous efforts were made on the 
part of the opposers of Christianity to open the 
floodgates of labor and worldly pleasure upon the 
sanctity of the Sabbath, Sabbath trains, Sabbath 
mails, Sabbath newspapers, Sabbath excursions, 
any thing and every thing except Sabbath consecra- 
tion, and obedience to the requirements of our 
heavenly Father, the Creator and Ruler of the 
universe. 

Associations have been formed for the avowed 
purpose of the abolition of the Sabbath, the judicial 
oath, and all laws enforcing morality. Does it 
require a prophetic vision to see what the end 
would be, could such as these succeed in their de- 
sires? These are they who speak of the require- 
ments of God’s word as “ shackles of supersti- 
tion,” and the licentiousness which they advocate as 
“ the light of truth and liberty.” 

Does the experience of the past, does the history 
of nations, does the God-given perception of right 
and wrong point to such as desirable leaders, as safe 
law-makers for any nation ? And yet, with sorrow 


THE SUNDAY NEWSPAPER. 


205 


be it said, there are some who call themselves Chris- 
tians who have ranged themselves on the same side 
with these in regard to the Sabbath question. 

Alas ! for those who make others to stumble with 
the liberty which they claim as their right. Not so 
did Paul, the faithful, when he abstained from what 
he regarded as harmless lest he should make his 
weak brother to offend. 

It is better to err on the side of right. If it seem 
to finite, variable man that the eternal God may 
have abrogated a part of the commands which 
he proclaimed amid the quakings, the lightnings 
and the thunders of Sinai, let his conscience be his 
judge in the matter ; but let him not seek to turn 
aside those who cannot make such variableness 
seem consistent with the eternal character and at- 
tributes of God. 


2 DG 


RES 7 ' OR UNREST. 


CHAPTER XYII. 

THE ENDLESS CHAIN. 

Shall iron break the northern iron and the steel? Thy sub- 
stance and thy treasures will I give to the spoil without 
Price , and that for all thy sins. — Jer. 15, 12, 13. 

L IFE at Rockland Furnace went on in the same 
unvarying way. The great stacks sent out 
their black volumes of smoke on all days alike. 
The teams came and went, hauling coal and ore, 
the loud-voiced drivers urging on the tired animals, 
for whom also there was no rest day. The axes of 
the wood-choppers rang out interminably, and at 
night the furnace fires lighted up the scene with a 
beautiful, weird effect, that yet seemed an exposure 
of the defiant money-making scheme that claimed 
all hours, sacred or otherwise, for the advancement 
of its own interests. 

The manager rose before the sun, and went 
forth to the unwilling task of compelling the unwil- 
ling hands to maintain the endless chain, as he had 
called it. But few of the men submitted to this 
routine for long at a time, and thus the employes 
were constantly changing. This fact involved still 
greater labor and more unsparing diligence on Mr. 
Weldon’s part. For him there was literally no rest 
except the few hours of sleep allotted to him, and 
they were often very few indeed. Having under- 


THE ^ENDLESS CHAIN. 


207 


taken the work which he felt that he had been 
hedged in to do, he tried to do it with his might, 
though he lacked necessarily the enthusiasm which 
the observance of the day of rest would have 
enabled him to bring to his weekly labor. 

Not many weeks had elapsed before he felt the 
stealthy approach of the insidious listlessness 
which marked all the hands who continued to work 
under his management. It was the unmistakable 
sign of the constant exhaustion, drop by drop, of 
the vital energies, with no influx of a recuperating 
element to supply the waste. The superintendent 
struggled against the sensation of continual weari- 
ness which seemed daily to become more burden- 
some. 

He felt none of the hearty enjoyment of employ- 
ment which belongs to the active, energetic man — 
such as he had always been — under healthful con- 
ditions of labor. It was a double compulsion, that 
of himself and of those whom it was his task to 
superintend. 

Every day seemed harder than the preceding one, 
and no oasis of Sabbath rest to look forward to in 
the desert of labor. Those workers who have 
never been subjected to this ordeal little under- 
stand the deprivation involved. It is like the walk- 
ing of a never-ceasing tread-mill. It is like the 
painful pacing of a circle, round and round, with no 
intermission, no relief for the poor victim to 
whom the attendant dizziness of such a course will 
come sooner or later. 


208 REST OR UNREST. 

One afternoon when the men were unusually 
inefficient, and Mr. Weldon was feeling more dis- 
couraged and desperate than his wont, even, one of 
the foremen, a young man named Price, came to 
him, saying hurriedly, 

“ Mr. Weldon, the men at the coaling job have 
struck. I can do nothing with them, and the 
woods are on fire.” 

It was no time to leave the furnace. The stock 
receiver had left between two loads of ore, and 
there was no one but the superintendent to take 
his place. However, fire is a word that suggests 
prompt action ; and, hastily summoning the book- 
keeper to weigh the ore, Mr. Weldon set out for 
the “ coaling job.” The roaring and crackling of 
the flames could be heard at some distance from 
the spot. There had been no rain for several 
weeks, and the underbrush and leaves were as dry 
as tinder. 

On approaching the spot the men were discov- 
ered at some little distance from the raging ele- 
ment, seated on the ground in groups playing 
cards. 

They were ordered to assist in trying to subdue 
the fire, but not one of them made any response, 
either by word or movement. 

“ I give you ten seconds to return to your duty,” 
said Mr. Weldon, taking out his watch, “ and if you 
refuse your pay will be docked unsparingly.” 

The men laughed. “ See here, boss,” said one of 
them, “ we have nothing against you except that 


THE ENDLESS CHAIN. 


209 


you have been rather keener about keeping the 
men up to their work than the last boss was ; but 
the main fact is we’re tired of the old thing, and 
are going to quit.” 

“ You will not get your pay until you help put 
out that fire,” answered the superintendent. 

“ O, we’re all right on the pay,” replied another, 
shuffling his cards. “ Trust a man’s wife and 
children for that, if there’s a store in the case. It’s 
work for bread with one hand and put it into your 
mouth with the other, in these diggings, and we’re 
going to better ourselves if we can. You can’t 
blame us for that, boss.” 

Mr. Weldon saw that it was of no use to reason 
with the men, and he thought in a vague way that 
he could not find it in his heart to blame them for 
their lack of right feeling, for their beast-like selfish 
inactivity under the circumstances. It was a result 
of the training which they had been undergoing. 

With the help of Will Price he began an 
almost hopeless battle with the raging fire, while 
the colliers went on with their pastime. It was a 
fitting commentary on the system of Sunday labor. 

Hour after hour the two men fought desperately 
with the powerful foe. The sun went down shorn 
of his beams in the dense smoke of the burning 
forest, and the two tired workers fell back before 
the advance of the flames. 

There was no immediate danger to other prop- 
erty than the woodland, but the loss would be 
immense to a charcoal-burning furnace. 

14 


210 


REST OR UNREST. 


The superintendent resolved that he would make 
one more effort, and succumb when he must. 

“You see how the land lies, Mr. Weldon,” said 
the foreman ; “ we can pass out here beyond range 
of the fire, or — ” 

“Or we can leap the ravine and fight it there 
with some hope of success,” interrupted Mr. Wel- 
don, promptly. “ Let us try the latter course.” 

Setting the example, he sprang across and landed 
safe ; but his companion, in attempting to follow, 
missed his footing and fell heavily into the ravine. 

Looking down, Mr. Weldon saw that he made no 
effort to rise, and knew that he must be unable to 
do so, as the rushing, roaring fire drew nearer and 
nearer. 

All thought of the loss of property paled into 
insignificance before the peril of life that con- 
fronted the superintendent as he watched the piti- 
less element rapidly approaching the spot where 
the young man lay in apparent unconsciousness. 

It was only a moment that he stood benumbed 
by the peril of the situation ; the next he clam- 
bered into the ravine and lifted up the prostrate 
form. 

The young man had indeed sustained a serious 
injury. His face was very pale and he seemed 
unable to speak, but his eyes sought those of the 
overseer with an agony of appeal in them. 

“ Keep up your courage, Will. We will get out 
of this unsinged, please Heaven,” said Mr. Weldon, 
cheerily, as with almost superhuman strength he 


THE ENDLESS CHAIN. 211 

lifted his companion in his arms. It would be 
impossible to traverse the length of the hollow 
and make an exit before the fire should reach 
them ; but he remembered a steep pathway leading 
up a few rods beyond, and he started for the spot 
with all the speed of which he was capable, bur- 
dened as he was. 

Would he be in time to reach it? and, if once 
reached, would he be able to make the ascent? 

The injured man was small- and of light weight, 
but to the exhausted man who carried him he 
seemed supernaturally heavy. The toiler thought 
of Southey’s ballad of Lord William, and the sink- 
ing of the boat by the weight of the murdered 
child Edmund, come back from his watery grave to 
punish his murderer with a death similar to his 
own. He thought of many things in that brief 
journey that seemed at the time interminable. 

The war of the flames sounded through all his 
thoughts like an approaching fate. He was hardly 
conscious how he reached the top of the embank- 
ment. He remembered laying his burden down 
behind a large rock that was conveniently near, 
and opening his knife with shaking hands to cut a 
bush with which to fight the fire. 

There was now no question of retreat, and the 
thought nerved him to effort that surprised himself. 
Yet his utmost efforts must in the end have proved 
unavailing if help had not come a little later. 

A couple of teamsters, seeing the lone man bat- 
tling with the flames, hurried to his aid. 


212 


REST OR UNREST 


It was late at night when the three men bore 
their helpless companion to the furnace town. 

“We will take him to my house,” said Mr. Wel- 
don ; “ he can be better cared for there.” 

The injured boy — for he was not more than 
eighteen — opened his eyes in the glare of the 
furnace light and gave the superintendent a look 
that was full of gratitude. 

The doctor was summoned without delay, and he 
gave what aid he could to the injured one. One 
of his legs was found to be broken, but the most 
serious hurt received was an injury to the spine, 
causing partial paralysis. 

He had not spoken since his fall, but he seemed 
to be conscious, and made signs with his left hand. 
Paper and pencil were brought, and he managed to 
scrawl a request that they should send a telegram 
for his sister, giving the address in a faltering hand, 
and adding, “and the baby.” 

A dispatch was at once written, and Mr. Weldon 
took it to the store, where he found a messenger. 

# “Take my horse, Josh, and ride him fast,” he 
said. “ I am afraid there is no time to be lost.” 

The nearest telegraph office was several miles 
away, and who could tell whether the loving sister 
and the baby would have time to come before thq 
dear one should be called away from earth ? 

But the operations of the furnace could not cease 
because one of the men was lying face to face with 
the great messenger who brings us the final tidings 
that all our earthly work is done. Colliers must be 


THE ENDLESS CHAIN. 


213 


engaged to take the places of the men who had 
refused to work longer. The injured one was at- 
tended through the night by the doctor and Mrs. 
Weldon, while the manager, worn out as he was 
with the last day’s terrible experience, went in 
search of workmen. 

The furnace fires glared on, and the stars over- 
. head wheeled their courses, while the clock ticked 
out the slow hours in the sick-room. The lamp 
was turned low in the hope that the sufferer would 
grow less wakeful in the dim light. The glow out- 
side flashed through the curtains of the shutterless 
windows, showing the old, old truth that busy life 
goes on the same even in the near presence of 
death. 

The patient’s eyes wandered restlessly to the 
door. 

“The telegram has been sent to the office, Mr. 
Price, and a wagon will be sent to the earliest 
train by which your friends can possibly arrive,” 
Mrs. Weldon assured him. He still seemed rest- 
less and uneasy. 

“ Is there any thing else?” she asked. 

He pointed to the paper and pencil, and when 
they were brought to him he tried again with 
laborious effort to write with his left hand. 

After repeated attempts the doctor deciphered 
a part of the writing. He read aloud slowly: 

“Tell Edward to quit Sunday work. Brings no 
good — better starve.” 

“ Perhaps it is for his sister when she comes,” 


214 


REST OR UNREST. 


suggested Mrs. Weldon, with her quicker intui- 
tion. 

The sufferer’s eyes gave a quick affirmative, and 
the scrap of paper was laid aside for the one for 
whom it was intended. 

“ Now you must try to put away all troublesome 
thoughts and get some sleep,” said Mrs. Weldon, 
soothingly, laying her cool hand on his hot fore- w 
head. “ The doctor is going away for a little 
while, but will be back presently. Do you think 
I could read you to sleep?” she asked, taking a 
Bible from the table. 

The young man looked wistfully at the book, 
and again signified assent. 

Mrs. Weldon read one after another of the 
Saviour’s invitations and promises to the weary 
and sin-sick, and gradually the look of restlessness 
on the pale face gave way to one of peace, and 
then he sank into a quiet sleep. The watcher 
lifted up a silent prayer to the great All-Father 
for the restoration of the injured one, or prepara- 
tion for an abundant entrance into the heavenly 
kingdom, if he should be called to die. 

The hours wore on and still he slept, until the 
shrill whistle of the furnace called the laborers to 
their work. 

Mr. Weldon returned home in the gray gloom 
of early morning to report no success. Some of 
the stockholders were expected to visit the fur- 
nace in the course of a few days, and Mrs. Weldon 
knew that her husband would incur blame if the 


THE ENDLESS CHAIN. 


215 


different departments of the business were not in 
smooth running order. 

“ They require their men to be worked like 
galley-slaves, and then censure you if flesh and 
blood do not prove as impressionless as the iron 
itself when it is cold!” she said indignantly to her 
husband. ‘‘They do not deserve to prosper, and 
I do not believe they will ! ” 

Mr. Weldon could not but agree with this ver- 
dict, but he was tired and preoccupied, as he 
nearly always was now. Always a kind and 
thoughtful husband and father, he had formerly 
been full of life and cheerfulness ; but now, though 
kind and loving still, his manner was habitually 
grave and absorbed. 

This change was the more trying to his family 
on account of their separation from other friends 
and their isolation from society and church priv- 
ileges. 

Almost in silence Mr. Weldon ate a hurried 
breakfast, and then having set the remaining 
employes at work, went away again to renew his 
search for men to prepare the charcoal. His 
absence was the signal for much idleness and in- 
efficiency ; but there was no alternative. 

It was a long, weary day, both for the tired toiler 
and for the. injured one who could only wait. 

The sufferer tried repeatedly to speak during 
the day, but the result was only a murmur of 
inarticulate sounds. 

It was scarcely to be supposed that his sister 


21 G 


REST OR UNREST 


could arrive before the following day, but the 
wagon was sent to the station on the possibility 
that she might have come. 

The patient was evidently much disappointed at 
the result. His face took on a paler, sadder look, 
and his eyes closed wearily. There was no lack of 
cheerful, hopeful words for the poor fellow. Of 
course he could not answer, and he pressed his 
eyelids closer to hide his tears. 

The next day came, and colliers were employed 
and another appointed to oversee their work, but 
the expected friends of the prostrate one at the 
superintendent’s home did not come. 

The man who was sent brought the fresh dis- 
appointment for the eager-faced waiter, and then 
turning away from the bed he drew Mrs. Weldon 
from the room by the tidings written on his coun- 
tenance. 

Why had they not come? Ah, there would be 
day after day of fruitless expectancy on the part 
of William Price — expectancy that would merge 
into despair before they would dare to tell him the 
ghastly truth ! 


A CRY FROM A BEREAVED HEART. 217 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


A CRY FROM A BEREAVED HEART. 

Me have ye bereaved of my children : ^Joseph is not , and 
Simeon is not, and ye will take Benjamin away. — Gen. 

42. 36. 

HE evidences of the late riot in Blankton were 



JL nearly all removed and business was going on 
as before, as the sun comes out and the blue sky 
and the placid water smile over the wrecks of 
storms. 

There were those, and the number was large, who 
had refused to learn the lesson of the harvest which 
they had sown and gathered in. 

Mr. Ball was one of these. He never dreamed 
of attaching any blame to himself, but was among 
the most active in bringing to justice the offenders 
against law and order. That these were deserving 
of punishment no right-minded person could ques- 
tion, but that there were grievous offenders on the 
side of the prosecution was no less true. 

Among the arrests made was that of one who, so 
far from having taken part in the lawless acts of his 
fellow-workmen, had done all that was in his power 
to restrain them from violence. 

This fact was stated to Mr. Ball before the arrest, 
but the -infuriated official could not be made to 
believe that the man who had circulated the Sun- 


218 


REST OR UNREST. 


day petition was not the ringleader in the riots that 
followed. His prejudice against Edward McLane 
was so merciless and unyielding that his mind be- 
came seriously disaffected toward his nephew in 
consequence of his friendship for the engineer, and 
Osmond found his presence barely tolerated by the 
head of the house to which he had been recalled. 

Osmond had made earnest and continued efforts 
to overcome his suspicions of Julian on hearing 
that his identity could not be* mistaken. He had 
exerted himself to win the young man’s favor with 
his mother, as he habitually called her. 

Julian seemed, indeed, to entertain a real affec- 
tion for Mrs. Ball, and she treated him with studied 
kindness and consideration. It could not escape 
notice, however, that his place in her heart was sec- 
ond to that held by Osmond, and though the latter 
was disinterested in his efforts on Julian’s behalf 
he felt that he was suspected and disliked by the 
young man, whom he called his cousin, and that this 
feeling toward him was shared by Mr. Ball. 

Had it not been for the sake of his aunt, Osmond 
would not have hesitated to return to his late home. 
But the bereaved heart clung to him so tenaciously 
that he felt it would be unwarrantable cruelty to tear 
himself away. 

A marked change had taken place in Julian, fol- 
lowing close upon the riot. His frequent and con- 
tinued absences ceased altogether, and he seemed 
restored to his family in spirit as well as in letter. 
He had been repeatedly called for by a question- 


A CRY FROM A BEREAVED HEART. 


219 


able looking messenger, and had been wont to 
respond to the summons under any and all circum- 
stances with an alacrity that was not at all pleasing 
to Mr. Ball. 

But this was all over now. Julian devoted him- 
self to business in business hours, and seemed to 
belong exclusively to the family and their circle of 
friends. He had at first seemed a little constrained 
in the society in which the Balls moved, but the 
feeling soon wore off; he speedily became a great 
favorite, and “ poor Mrs. Ball ” was much commis- 
erated in private that she did not seem able to 
grasp and enjoy the fact that this fascinating young 
map was indeed her long-lost son. 

Mr. Ball had told as much' of the life episode as 
he and Julian cared to have known, and society 
had embellished it with as much of romance as its 
imagination could supply. So it came to be gen- 
erally understood that “that charming young Mr. 
Ball ” had been brought up in the family of an En- 
glish nobleman, and had but lately returned to this 
country. 

Osmond’s position became more and more un- 
pleasant. His uncle had lately become president 
of the bank in which he was employed, and Julian 
was made a director as well as cashier, Osmond 
being given a secondary place to make room for the 
heir of the house. Thus he was brought into con- 
stant business as well as social relations with them, 
feeling meanwhile the cold distrust which they both 
manifestly entertained toward him. 


220 


REST OR UNREST. 


One evening, while driving out with his aunt, he 
said to her : 

“Auntie, I do not find my position heremearly 
so remunerative as my employment in Rochester. 
Do you think you could make up your mind to let 
me go away again for awhile? ” 

If the young man had suspected his aunt’s* feel- 
ings in regard to the matter to be of such intensity 
he would never have approached the subject. 

She became painfully agitated. Her lips quiv- 
ered and her hands shook with her emotion. 

“ I see how it is,” she said. “ Your uncle is mak- 
ing you unhappy here by his coldness and lack of 
confidence. But I will not have it so. Have I no 
rights in this matter ? ” 

Then bursting into tears she exclaimed, “ By his 
obstinate, wicked presumption toward God he 
robbed me of both my little ones, and now he 
would drive you away ! ” 

Osmond was much troubled. All this was so 
unlike the tranquil, chastened demeanor which his 
aunt commonly showed. He feared for the result of 
such unusual excitement, and did his best to soothe 
and quiet her, assuring her that there was no obsta- 
cle to prevent his remaining in his uncle’s house, and 
that he would stay always if she desired it, beg- 
ging her to say nothing about the matter to any 
one and not even to think of it again. 

He changed the subject as soon as he could and 
talked in a lively, amusing vein during the rest of 
the drive, and his aunt fell back into her habitual 


A CRY FROM A BEREAVED HEART. 221 


quiet manner ; but from this time she clung to 
him more than ever, and, realizing at last how 
much she needed him, he thought no more of 
going away. 

The recollection of her emotions made him 
more tenderly affectionate toward her than ever. 
His motives might be misconstrued — he cared not. 
Whatever he himself might suffer, he would spare 
his benefactress every pain that it was in his power 
to hinder. 

A few weeks later an incident occurred that 
moved her even more deeply than that with which 
her nephew had never ceased to reproach himself. 
The occurrence took place during another evening 
drive. 

A neat-looking, bright-eyed girl was wheeling a 
baby’s cab along the pavement, talking to the 
little occupant, meanwhile, in a way that made it 
laugh and clap its hands gleefully. 

Mrs. Ball suddenly grasped Osmond’s arm and 
said, 

“ Stop the carriage quickly, and ask her to bring 
it to me ! ” 

Her wish to look at every child she saw was 
always gratified. A few minutes’ scrutiny generally 
sufficed to convince her that she had not found the 
little one for whom she was ever searching, but 
to-night it was not so. When the girl had brought 
her charge close up to the carriage Mrs. Ball 
reached out her arms for it, and the little fellow, 
accustomed to strangers and fearing no one, 


222 


REST OR UNREST. 


responded by putting out his wee fluttering hands 
to her. 

When he had been placed in her arms she held 
him off a little and looked at him with wide, ques- 
tioning eyes for some time, then clasped him to 
her and again scanned the sweet, smiling baby face. 

At last she covered it with passionate kisses, 
exclaiming, 

“ O, I have dreamed it so often, so often, and 
awoke to be disappointed. But I am not dreaming 
now. Thank God, I have found my darling at 
last ! ” 

Osmond was at a loss what course to pursue. 
Asking the girl a few hurried questions, he learned 
the name of the child’s parents and the street and 
number where they lived. He was also told that 
the mother and child were to take the evening 
train for a short absence on account of the illness of 
a friend. 

“Auntie,” said the young man, gently touching 
her, for she did not seem to be conscious of his 
presence, “ there is a poor fellow dying somewhere 
who loves the baby too and wants to see it once 
more, and they must take it to him to-night. 
When it comes back again it shall be brought to 
you or you shall be taken to it.” 

But she put her arms about it more closely than 
ever. 

“ I have waited so long,” she said. 

The girl standing fearlessly between the car- 
riage-wheels was a study for a painter. 


A CRY FROM A BEREAVED HEART. 


223 


“ Did she lose a little child long ago ? ” she asked 
pityingly. 

Mr. Ball had once asked Osmond if he could not 
see that Julian resembled his mother, and he had 
honestly tried to trace a likeness between the two, 
but had not succeeded. As he now looked into 
this girl’s upturned face in replying to her question 
he saw a resemblance of Julian that was almost 
perfect. 

“ Poor lady!” she said, in a tone of compassion 
the genuineness of which could not be mistaken. 

Osmond’s utmost powers of persuasion were 
called forth in prevailing upon his aunt to restore 
the child to its nurse’s arms. She finally consented 
with a sigh, and they drove home in silence. She 
went directly to her own room and did not make 
her appearance again during the evening. 

As for Osmond, he lost no time in going to the 
number that had been given him, and a little later 
* accompanied the mother and child to the jail for an 
interview with the husband and father, and from 
thence to the depot. 

His face was full of sympathetic sadness as he 
returned to his uncle’s home. But ah, he little 
knew the height and depth of the affliction which 
had appealed so strongly to his sympathy. The 
evening was gloomy, the rain falling in great drops 
that seemed to him like tears wept over the griefs 
of stricken humanity. His heart was heavy, though 
he knew but little, as yet, of the sorrow which 
seemed to him so oppressive. 


224 


REST OR UNREST. 


It was a dark, disagreeable night, with a thick 
curtain of clouds stretched clear across the sky and 
the rain falling heavily. 

Philip Watson, the switch-tender at Glenroad,sat 
staring at nothing, and deliberating about the 
chances of the rainfall ceasing before it would be 
necessary for him to go out. He got up and 
looked at the clock and went to the window. 

“ Black as your hat,” he said apostrophizing an 
imaginary listener. “ I wish I hadn’t taken this 
place. I am glad my time is nearly out. It is as 
lonesome as the valley of dry bones and harder 
than breaking rock on the highway, tending that 
tiresome switch day in and day out. The cease- 
less, unvaried routine is enough to drive a man 
stark mad. If I could go to the little church over 
yonder on Sundays it would at least divert my 
mind and ease the friction a little. This is enough 
to wear a stone.” 

Tick, tick, came the call of the battery, and he 
hastened to answer. 

“ There is a wild freight train on the track. Let 
it pass. It will have time to reach Palno before the 
passenger train starts by the new schedule.” 

Philip Watson gave a little start. The new 
schedule did not take effect until Sunday, and this 
was Saturday, or else he had lost a day. 

He glanced at the clock and sprang for the 
door, a thousand thoughts running in wild con- 
fusion through his brain. Was it Saturday or 
Sunday ? 


A CRY FROM A BEREAVED HEART. 223 

Was the operator at Valley Station mistaken, or 
was he? Should he obey or disobey orders? 

There was little time for consideration. The 
wild train was not far off. Its head-light, like a 
keen eye gleaming through the gloom, drew nearer 
and nearer. He stood but for a moment undecided ; 
then he sprang out into the darkness and pouring 
rain, his lantern flashing over the pools of water as 
he ran. 

He would take the responsibility of switching off 
the freight train. 

If it was Saturday, as he thought, the passenger 
train was due in a very short time. 

He glanced over his shoulder as he ran, and saw 
a sight that made his heart stand still — another 
head-light coming around the curve in the opposite 
direction. 

It w r as well that he had trusted to his own 
reckoning, confused as his ideas were. But would 
he be in time? The freight train seemed to be 
making frightful speed, and he dared not look be- 
hind him again. 

He seemed to live years in those few minutes as 
he thought of the human lives that would be lost 
in the inevitable collision if he failed, for the road 
at that point ran along a rocky cliff over which one 
or both trains must be plunged, unless a miracle 
were interposed to prevent the catastrophe. 

If he could only reach the switch-handle he would 
try to do his duty if it should be the last time. 
Better the loss of one life than a sacrifice of the 
15 


226 


REST OR UNREST . 


many that were rushing all unconsciously to the 
brink of destruction. 

He was clearing the ground in great leaps ; he 
was making such speed as he had never made 
before ; but with that dreadful light before him 
coming nearer, and the one behind — how near he 
dared not think — his progress seemed like that in 
troublous dreams in which we strive to fly from 
danger and find that our feet are weighted. 

His foot slipped in a pool of water and he fell. 
He was up in an instant, but the dreadful certainty 
flashed over him that he was too late. That 
momentary hesitation over the telegram had made 
him a moment too late. Too late! How often 
have the words been repeated in an agony which no 
words can express ! 

One glance backward, and then Philip Watson 
sank down at the side of the track and put his face 
down on the wet ground, with his fingers in his ears 
as the freight train went thundering by. 

He knew when it happened. He could not help 
but know, and he shuddered and almost wished to 
die. How could he look on the dead and the dying 
yonder, whose lives and safety he had, as it were, 
held in his hand but a moment before? What right 
had he to become confused and vacillating with 
such issues dependent upon clearness and accuracy? 
He felt like a murderer, and was tempted to hide 
himself from sight. 

A moment later he remembered the mail-train, 
and he went mechanically and attended to his 


A CRY FROM A BEREAVED HEART. 227 

duties. He felt as if he had changed his identity 
or had passed into another state of existence. Then 
he turned back and walked rapidly down the track 
to the dreadful spot where the terrible scene was 
lighted up by burning cars. 

The locomotives were gasping like two battling 
beasts, each prostrated by the other, yet neither 
subdued. But O, the groans and cries that rose 
above the sound of the flames and the escaping 
steam ! 

Watson made his way down the declivity. The 
few who were uninjured were working with the en- 
ergy of desperation, trying to render aid to those 
who might be aided. The switch-tender joined in 
the work, doing effective service until the living 
were released, and burning one of his hands fearful- 
ly in so doing. Then he went back and entered the 
office as mechanically as he had attended to the 
switch, and telegraphed the accident to Valley 
Station. This done he sent the dreadful message 
over the lines in the other direction, asking for a 
relief train to care for the injured. 

He then went back to the spot where the victims 
lay writhing and groaning, or silent and motionless ; 
his victims, he had said to himself when the terri- 
ble thing was happening, but now he said nothing, 
thought nothing, unless it were a faint, glad thought 
that the rain had recommenced, and was cooling 
his burning brain. 

The relief train came and the living were taken 
on board. How few they seemed compared with 


228 


REST OR UNREST. 


the passive forms laid side by side along the track ! 
some with white, peaceful faces, upturned to the fall- 
ing raindrops ; some with distorted features as if still 
in the tortures which had sundered soul and body; 
some crushed beyond all recognition, or charred and 
blackened till all semblance of humanity was lost. 

One lifeless form, with face eclipsed by the fire, 
had its arms clasped tightly round a little child. 
It, too, was dead, but its flower-like face was 
unmarred. There was no sign of fire or other harm 
about it except on one side the singeing of its beau- 
tiful hair. The two were not separated. The 
woman’s identity would be impossible unless the 
child revealed it. 

There was no time for investigation now as to 
whose hac[ been the blunder which had wrought 
the fearful work. 

The papers would chronicle the ghastly facts at 
length, and the tale would come to some, far off, 
with their loved ones around them safe and happy, 
as a dark picture of the imagination, interesting but 
unreal because it had not touched their own expe- 
rience. 

There would come to others a breathless heart- 
questioning as to the safety of absent loved ones, 
and time woifld bring the answer, “ All’s well ; ” but 
to others no such reassuring message would ever 
come. Those charred and crushed remains were all 
that was left of earthly forms that had been loved 
and cherished. There were vacant places that could 
never be filled. 


A CRY FROM A BEREAVED HEART. 


229 


The busy world would go on the same. Acci- 
dents will happen, and their frequency and the 
extremity of their horror but inure the public mind 
to their recital. What newspaper has not a list of 
casualties? Who is surprised to learn of boiler 
explosions of steam-boats, or the more frequent rail- 
road accidents ? 

“ Men must work and women must weep,” and, 
it might be added, money must be made though 
the work involve the loss of both souls and bodies. 

A railroad conductor in conversation with a pas- 
senger once said, on the subject of Sunday railroad- 
ing : 

“ If railroad managers would only take a sensible 
business view of this matter, to say nothing of a 
moral or religious one, they could secure the services 
of a much better grade of employes ; men whose 
principles would make them faithful. Under their 
management those frightful accidents wjiich some- 
times shock the whole country would be much less 
frequent, and these advantages would accrue with- 
out diminishing the business of the roads one iota.” 

Others who know whereof they affirm have made 
similar statements ; but how many railroad and 
steam-boat managers, who cannot be ignorant of the 
danger in face of the frequent accidents, “ bribe 
men to break the fourth commandment ” by offer- 
ing reduced rates for Sabbath excursions. 

It seems not to matter much to them, the loss of 
a few lives more or less. All men must die at some 
time, and so the chronicle goes before the public 


230 


REST OR UNREST. 


under the head of “ Casualties : ” “An engineer mis- 
took instructions. Two trains collided. A delayed 
train, making extra speed to redeem time, jumped 
the track at a given point, and so many lives were 
lost.” 

And then the disturbed element of public feeling 
loses its ripples and is smooth again, and ready for 
the next. 




AT THE BAR OF JUSTICE. 


231 


CHAPTER XIX. 


AT THE BAR OF JUSTICE. 


Hear the word of the Lord . . . for the Lord hath a contro- 
versy with the inhabitants of the land , because there is no 
truth, nor mercy , nor knowledge of God in the land. By 
swearing, and lying, and killmg and stealing . . . they 
break out , and blood toucheth blood . — Hosea 4. j, 2. 



HE Goddess of Justice has been represented as 


JL holding a pair of scales in one hand, for the 
weighing of merits and demerits, and a sword in the 
other, for the execution of punishment upon offend- 
ers; but alas! how often the balances are not 
properly adjusted, and the guilty escape while the 
blow falls upon the innocent! 

How often the mercy that should be meted out 
to those more sinned against than sinning is allowed 
to degenerate into sickly sentimentalism toward 
criminals whose punishment is demanded by every 
principle of right ! The half-starved child is held 
to a strict account for a paltry theft, and the red- 
handed murderer is lionized and receives pardon, or 
a sentence not at all commensurate with his crime. 
It is not always so, however. There are courts 
of justice that are worthy of the name, but the de- 
generacy of the times in this respect is too palpable 
to require argument. The gradual working from 
cause to effect is thus traced by a writer in regard 


REST OR UNREST. 


232 

to this matter, as illustrated in a well-known city of 
our land : 

“Vile Sunday theaters, low saloons open every 
day and night of the year, great beer-gardens 
crowning the hills or hidden by brick blocks, . . . 
resorts of vice at every hand ; corruption at the 
ballot-box, which means corrupt men in office ; a 
venal press, carrying vile stories and details of crime, 
with all their dangerous suggestions, into the family 
— all these the city has had and gloried in them. 
Familiarity with crime thus semi-legalized has 
brought as its legitimate result a failure to punish 
those who practice it, until murder in its highest 
form has become a common occurrence.” 

Thus it has ever been. A ruthless disregard of 
God and his requirements is naturally followed by 
a throwing off of all restraint. 

Edward McLane, unjustly arrested and impris- 
oned, entertained strong hopes of a speedy release 
when he should be brought to trial. He had made 
up his mind to quit Sunday labor and trust to Prov- 
idence for work for the support of his family. 

Osmond Young had secured for him the services 
of a skillful lawyer, and was also hopeful of the 
result. 

The time to elapse before the opening of the 
term of court set for the trial had dragged wearily 
by, and the change from the jail to the court-room 
was welcome as a foretaste of.permanent release. 

The room was filled as usual by the motley crowd 
whose morbid taste for the details of crime is an in- 


AT THE BAR OF JUSTICE. 233 

dex of the moral status of communities. The case 
was duly opened by the prosecution and went for- 
ward rapidly. Mr. Bertram, the counsel for the de- 
fense, made a masterly effort on behalf of his client. 
He represented him as a man of law and order, an 
advocate of quiet, reformatory measures ; as wit- 
nessed by the moderation he had shown in quietly 
petitioning for that which he had a right to de- 
mand ; namely, release from Sunday labor. 

He produced witnesses who testified that they 
had known McLane for years as a peaceful, law- 
abiding man. Yet there were not wanting others 
to make contrary statements. There were not 
wanting those who take the awful sin of perjury 
upon their souls in the hope of gain, nor specimens 
of that contemptible type of criminal who makes, 
or claims to make, a full revelation of the crime in 
which he has participated, implicating others for 
the purpose of escaping his own just deserts. 

The president of the railroad company whose 
property had suffered so severely in the riot was 
indefatigable in his efforts to bring the acpused to 
conviction, and his nephew’s espousal of the cause » 
of the prisoner continued to widen the breach be- 
tween them. In his deep-seated malignance toward 
Edward McLane Mr. Ball appeared for the time to 
have lost sight of every thing else, and he watched 
the progress of the trial as if he had no other inter- 
est in life, and with *an obvious relish for every 
point made against the engineer. 

Mr. Laing, the lawyer for the prosecution, in 


234 


REST OR UNREST. 


cross-examining a witness, affected to disbelieve 
the fact of the partial deafness of the accused, and 
made some cruel remarks in a vein which he in- 
tended for pleasantry and which brought the laugh 
intended, especially from the portly railroad presi- 
dent, who shook with amusement until his watch- 
chain jingled. But the shaft did not reach the pris- 
oner, except through the laughter and the glances 
which he met. He had pleaded “Not guilty” 
in a firm, confident tone, at the beginning, and then 
rested the whole matter in the hands of Osmond 
and his lawyer. There was a quiet confidence in 
the man’s face and manner that compelled the re- 
spect of many present and a disbelief of his partici- 
pation in the lawless acts of the mob. He looked 
like a man who, conscious of his innocence, had no 
fear of being proved a criminal. 

Near the close of the session a witness was intro- 
duced whose testimony was all that the prisoner’s 
most violent enemy could have wished. 

He stated that he had known Edward McLane 
all his life and had never known any good of him 
or his father ; that when the prisoner was a boy he 
used to go about with a card tied round his neck 
stating that he was a deaf mute; that he and his 
father gathered in a good deal from his misfortune, 
until one day the boy called out some impertinence 
to a passer-by who had refused to give him any 
thing, and so the spell was broken. 

There was another laugh at the prisoner’s ex- 
pense, but this time he did not seem to notice it. 


AT THE BAR OF JUSTICE. 235 

He appeared busy with his own thoughts, as the 
deaf must often necessarily be, even in crowds. 
But though his face wore a grave look, there was 
nothing of apprehension in its expression. He left 
the court-room looking even cheerful as he talked 
with Mr. Bertram. 

On the following morning the countenance of the 
accused man showed a complete transformation. 
It was as if sentence of death had been passed 
upon him, and a single night had aged him by 
years. His sunken eyes wore a strange, wild ex- 
pression, his face was ashen pale, and he walked to 
his place with an unsteady gait. When court was 
opened he asked permission to speak, and on being 
granted the privilege he retracted his plea and said, 
“ I now enter the new plea of guilty. It came to 
me on yesterday in a fragment that chanced to 
reach my ears that I was even suspected of shoot- 
ing policeman Heywood. Let it be so. I plead 
guilty of any and every thing of which you may 
choose to charge me. Let my sentence be death, 
and let it be executed as speedily as possible ! ” 

There was the desperation of despair in the man’s 
tones, and his face was stamped with pain as, sitting 
down, he gazed long and intently at President Ball, 
who was not far away and who was nodding his 
head as if in indorsement of the prisoner’s sugges- 
tion. 

Edward McLane’s lawyer, who had vainly tried 
to check his rapid words, now stated that the con- 
fession of the accused was worth nothing in the 


236 


RES T OR UNREST. 


evidence against him ; that it was but the cry of 
anguish extorted from a heart that was well-nigh 
broken. He had on the previous evening received 
the intelligence of the death of his wife and child 
in a railroad collision, and also a revelation in 
regard to the subject of the testimony of the last 
witness on the stand on yesterday which was a blow 
little less terrible. 

“ The prosecution,” the lawyer went on, “ have 
sacrificed every instinct of humanity in the conduct 
of this trial. They have stooped to taunt my client 
with an infirmity laid upon him by the hand of God. 
They have relentlessly pursued him in regard to 
his early years, in ways that were not of his own 
choosing, aiming to prove him a trained criminal 
on the ground that his father was a villain before 
him. From the lips of a man who has already 
been convicted of perjury they have produced the 
most damaging testimony that has been brought 
forward. They have shown no leaning to the side of 
common justice, much less mercy. Do they know 
of a quality called pity? If so, let my client’s late 
rash words be taken for all that they are worth in 
reality : not a truthful confession of guilt, but a cry 
of pain too great to be repressed ; a cry from one 
whose lot in life has been shadowed not only by a 
physical infirmity, but by a great wrong that reaches 
farther back. You see before you one who has also 
been oppressed by the false system of labor that 
demands the utmost limit of a man’s strength and 
vitality that he may simply exist and do the work 


AT THE BAR OF JUSTICE. 237 

of the magnates of wealth — one who has been 
hunted and persecuted for the very crimes which 
he sought to prevent, and which the granting of his 
Sunday petition would have prevented. And by 
whom has this persecution been carried on to the 
extreme of cruel malignance ? Ah, gentlemen of 
the jury, that is a question the answer to which 
may well cause the ears that hear of it to tingle ! 
A man of wealth and leisure ; a man whom we 
should naturally expect to find treading the way of 
a broad philanthropy; aiming to ease the yoke on 
the necks of his less fortunate fellows, aiming to do 
unto others as he would wish that others should do 
unto him — or his ! ” 

Mr. Bertram paused abruptly, with his eyes fixed 
upon Mr. Ball, and then introduced a new witness. 

He took the oath and stated : “ My name is 
Erastus Stowe. I am a physician by profession. 
I have in my possession a statement which may 
throw some light on this ease. It was written and 
duly attested by a man who died yesterday at 
Stephen’s Hospital. He stated to me some time 
ago that he had an adopted son in Blankton with 
whom he had had no intercourse for a long time. 
He said that the son when quite a boy had been 
placed in a position that was above his own sphere, 
and that he had made no effort to regain possession 
of him, though still retaining the clothes in which 
he was first abducted, with a vague intention of 
making use of them at some future tirne. He had 
once made a statement of the facts which, together 


238 


REST OR UNREST. 


with the baby’s clothes, he placed in the hands of 
one Varney ; but fearing that an improper use had 
been made of the revelation, he drew up the affida- 
vit which I shall now read.” 

Omitting the name of the person addressed, he 
read ; 

“Your son is still living and is even now in 
Blankton. You gave me a kicking on board the 
Mermaid. I said then that I would be revenged. 
I managed to hide the baby when the boats left the 
yacht, and took him with me when I next sailed. 
I confess that I have been a sorry case ; but in spite 
of my influence in his early years he grew up re- 
spectable, an honest, honorable, upright man, as is 
attested by the witnesses whose names are hereto 
affixed. I may as well make a clean breast of it, 
and own that when he fell sick and lost his hearing 
I found him rather a burden and pushed him off 
my hands, and some good people got him into a 
children’s home. He has probably forgotten me, 
though he still bears my name, the name of 

“ Edward McLane.” 

When the witness had concluded he gave the 
document to Mr. Bertram, and submitted to a cross- 
examination by the prosecution. The doctor 
seemed unruffled by the questions with which he 
was plied with a view to extort some contradictory 
statement, and the lawyer’s efforts were all in vain. 
He was evidently disappointed and annoyed, while 
the witness seemed wholly at his ease. 

But Mr. Bali’s appearance was a study. His 


AT THE BAR OF JUSTICE. 


239 


usually fresh-looking countenance was deathly pale, 
and his hands shook as he clasped them together. 
The prisoner sat' with his head slightly averted 
and his face shaded by his hand. 

“ But the witness has made one important omis- 
sion,” persisted the lawyer. “ The statement which 
he brings forward, if not spurious, must have been 
addressed to some one. We would like to know 
from what respectable stock this respectable scion 
is really sprung.” , 

“ If the Court pleases, I ask the privilege of sup- 
pressing the name,” answered Dr. Stowe. 

The judge decided that the true name of the 
prisoner could have no bearing upon his guilt or 
innocence, and that the name should be suppressed 
as requested. 

President Ball wiped the drops of cold perspira- 
tion from his forehead and looked about him in a 
bewildered way. Could it be possible, questioned 
some of the spectators, that he had the case so 
much at heart that the possibility of losing it thus 
wrought upon him — or was he suddenly taken ill ? 

A little later a messenger boy made his way to 
the great man and gave him a missive containing 
the following: 

“ President Ball : 

“ Blankton Bank has suspended. Your son Jul- 
ian absconded last night with $800,000.” 

Then Osmond came hurrying in and talked with 
his uncle in a low tone for a few minutes. The two 


240 


REST OR UNREST. 


went out together, the older man leaning on the 
arm of his companion. 

“ They might have kept back one blow for 
another time,” he said, in a rambling manner. Os- 
mond helped him into the carriage, and they drove 
home. 

“ Where did you pick up that doctor, Osmond ? ” 
he went on. “He was on board the Mermaid that 
Sunday, and could have sworn to the facts himself. 
I saw that he wanted to spare me a little. O, Os- 
mond ! ” he groaned. 

Osmond began to fear for his uncle’s mind, but 
on questioning him as to his meaning he was as- 
tounded to learn to what he had referred when he 
had spoken of the other blow. 

What consolation could he offer? The thought 
that the absconding cashier was not his son might 
carry with it something of comfort ; but what of 
the other, and the course of conduct which he had 
pursued toward him ? Either alternative was harder 
to bear, a thousand-fold, than would have been the 
death of the son so long mourned. 

There was excess of sorrow that night in the 
stately mansion of wealth. Mr. Ball was assisted 
to his room and gave orders that he was not to be 
disturbed until morning, and the nephew unwill- 
ingly left him alone with his grief. 

Edna Varney had come weeping to the lady who 
had fondled the little child she had loved so dearly, 
and told the dreadful story of death. Osmond had 
intended to try to prepare his aunt in some meas- 


AT THE BAR OF JUSTICE. 


241 


ure for the intelligence when it must be given, but 
it was too late now. 

On entering the room where she was sitting he 
saw at a glance that she knew. 

“ The baby is dead,” she said, mournfully, but 
quietly. “I could not help fearing that it would 
be so. Life would have been too bright for earth 
if my darling had been given back to me. I must 
write a little dirge to his memory ; that is the last 
love-work I can do for him. Of course the funeral 
must take place from here. Will you arrange every 
thing, Osmond?” she asked, rising. 

He gave her his promise, and, unlocking her 
writing desk, she sat down to the work of writing 
the baby’s dirge. 

The testimony was all in. The judge, in his 
charge to the jury, dwelt glowingly on the growing 
evil of the blind violence of mobs. He pictured 
the suffering that the spirit of lawlessness entails 
alike upon the guilty and the innocent, and urged 
the necessity of exorcising the evil spirit by the 
hand of the law. He summed up the evidence, 
touching lightly on that in the prisoner’s favor and 
making much of that which was against him, and 
when his speech was ended and the twelve men 
left the court-room it was but a mere matter of 
form. They returned in a short time with the ver- 
dict of “ guilty,” and sentence was passed ; the sen- 
tence of imprisonment for life, “the Court leaning 
toward the side of mercy on account of the cul- 
prit’s early misfortunes ! ” 

16 


242 


REST OR UNREST. 


CHAPTER XX. 

“THOU WILT NEVER BE TIRED, MY DARLING.” 


He shall gather the lambs with his arm , and carry them 
in his bosom. — Isa. 40. 11. 



ORNING came. The Ball mansion was in 


solemn silence. The head of the house had 


been found almost helpless from a stroke of pa- 
ralysis, of which as yet his wife knew nothing. It 
was judged best not to burden her with further 
trouble at present, and the subject of his absence 
had been somehow evaded. This was the less 
difficult as her thoughts were centered on the 
death of the little child. There was crape on the 
door of the stately home, and the white-plumed 
hearse was bringing the dead baby to the mourner 
who waited in the gloom of her darkened chamber. 

The little coffin was carried into the parlor, and 
Edna Varney, half-blinded by her tears, laid a 
wreath of white flowers on it. Then Osmond 
brought his aunt into the room. She was very 
pale, and leaned heavily on her nephew’s arm, 
looking intently at the beautiful sleeper. It lay 
upon its side as if in natural repose, and the traces 
of the fire on its brown curls were quite concealed. 

“ O, my long-lost darling! how hungry my heart 
has been for you. But it is well with the child,” 


“ THOU WILT NEVER BE TIRED. 


243 


she added. Then sinking to her knees beside the 
tiny coffin she repeated in thrilling tones what was 
afterward found to be the poem written on the 
previous evening. The words, wrung from her 
heart, had stamped themselves upon her memory. 
Those present listened with bowed heads and 
bated breath as the gray-haired mother, bending 
over the sleeping child, breathed forth her sub- 
mission, her calm resignation, founded upon the 
belief that her lost one was at rest. 

Thou wilt never be tired, my darling : 

The burdens we must bear 
Our weary hands can scarce uphold ; 

The crosses we must wear 
Oft make us stoop anear the earth, 

Until perforce we weep. 

And pray our Father for the night 

When “ He giveth his loved ones sleep.” 

But tender arms did bear thee up 
Or ever thou hadst desired ; 

And the rest of heaven is thine for aye — 

Thou wilt never, never be tired. 

Thou wilt never stray, my darling ; 

We stumble and ofttimes fall 
In the straight and narrow way that He 
Hath pointed out to all ; 

And we wander for ease to the paths of sin. 

And our feet are tired and sore, 

Ere we find again the road that leads 
Straight up to our Father’s door : 

But ah ! where the streets are paved with gold. 

No by-paths lead away; 

From the jewelled walls and the pearly gates — 

Thou wilt never, never stray. 


244 


REST OR UNREST. 


Thou wilt never he sad, my darling : 

There are bitter drops of pain 
Marring the sweetness of every cup 
That our lips on earth may drain; 

There’s many an eager, yearning cry 
For even the crumbs of bread 
From the table of joy, to find, alas! 

The stones of sorrow instead ; 

But O, for thee there’s a chalice full 
Of the wine that maketh glad ! 

The wine unmixed — God’s perfect bliss : 

Thou wilt never, never be sad. 

Thou wilt never grow old, my darling ; 

Of the fountain of youth we dream, 

But while we are seeking our eyes are dimmed 
By the graves that rise between ; 

And one by one the flowers fall 
That gladden the path we tread, 

Till only the withered boughs remain, 

And leaves that are sere and dead. 

The day is past, and there cometh on 
A night that is dark and cold ; 

But the cycles of heaven will come and go. 

And thou’lt never, never grow old. 

Thou never wilt die, my darling i 
Thou never hadst learned to fear 
The dark, dark vale at the end of the way 
That waiteth us pilgrims here ; 

Thou knewest naught of the waters cold. 

The dangers and dread alarms; 

Thou didst not walk thro’ the valley and shade, 
For “He taketh the lambs in his arms.” 

He beareth them safe from the love of earth 
To the love pf their home on high — 

The love that is light and life for aye : 

Thou never , never wilt die. 


THOU WILT NEVER BE TIRED 


245 


There was no sound in the room when the 
words were finished save a half-stifled sob from 
the strange man who stood near. As Mrs. Ball 
rose to her feet her eyes fell upon him, and she 
seemed to read the tale of his sorrow upon his 
countenance. 

“ Have you, too, lost a little child ? ” she asked, 
gently. 

He bowed assent. 

44 Was it your only darling, as mine was?” 

44 My only one,” he answered, as the drops of 
agony broke out on his forehead. 

44 Then- we are friends in the bonds of sorrow,” 
she said, reaching out her hand to him. He 
grasped it for a moment, then reached blindly for 
a chair, and sat down with his face in his hands. 

There was a clear quality in her tone that had 
enabled him to hear it all. He had not lost a 
word. O, the horrible mockery of his mistaken 
identity! To be thought the little child lying 
there in peace, never to know weariness or sorrow, 
never to grow old, never to walk through the valley 
of the shadow of death, already borne over in the 
arms of the Good Shepherd, at home, at rest — to 
be indeed the man still young in years but aged by 
sorrow, bereft of every thing that makes life dear, 
hunted down by his own father, and condemned by 
the law to end his days in prison and in servitude 
for a crime of which he was as truly innocent as 
the pure-faced sleeper whom his mother had mis- 
taken for himself! 


24(5 


A 'EST OR UNREST \ 


Again and again the thought came to him in 
wild rebellion, “ What have I done to deserve all 
this?" 

He remembered bitterly the lot of his tender 
years, cast among those who made his childhood a 
season of hardship and deprivation. No bright 
flower-wreathed existence such as he had heard 
others speak of, no sheltered, happy time of sweet 
associations, but a time of struggle for existence, 
of exposure which had resulted in the infirmity 
that had seemed to him day after day an insur- 
mountable barrier which he felt a painful longing 
to pass, a barrier that kept him impotently apart 
from the life going on around him. 

In witnessing the ability of others to hear and 
converse with ease where he could distinguish no 
sound he had a nameless feeling of powerlessness, 
of isolation, of loneliness, which was sadder from 
the fact that he was not alone, but only separated 
and set apart from those around him. 

He had not been left in the slough of ignorance 
and vice in which the lines had fallen to him in 
childhood. Charity had provided better things 
for him, and to-day he was what he was through 
the aid of philanthropic workers. And this, 
though he was not devoid of gratitude, had been 
another bitter drop in the cup of his life. 

A proud, inborn sensitiveness, which could not be 
eradicated even by the hardships of his childhood 
and early youth, rebelled against the fate that 
made him a recipient of charity. He had wanted, 


“ THOU WILT NEVER BE TIRED.' 


247 


too, to carve for himself a niche high up in the 
temple where stood those whom the world de- 
lighted to honor as the good and great. He had 
not been permitted to reach the goal for which he 
had longed. Yet contentment had come to him in 
his lowlier lot. Love and peace had in a measure 
blotted out the hatred, strife and disappointment, 
and life had brightened wonderfully ; but now ! 
What, he asked himself, had he ever dreamed of 
that could compare with this ? 

Somewhere under this roof was the father who, 
in his unrelenting opposition to every thing which 
stood in his way, in his blind devotion to his own 
opinions and the gratifying of his selfish will, had 
hounded his own son to the covert of life imprison- 
ment. 

Here was his mother, whom he seemed to 
have known in some past existence, and strove to 
remember until his reeling brain let go the clue 
which he seemed about to grasp, and, foiled and 
baffled, he found his memory groping in the dark- 
ness of his unloved, unbrightened childhood. 

The pale, spiritual face told him how truthfully 
she had spoken of the heart hunger which all these 
years had held in fullness for her, and of the 
chastening influence which it had wrought. 

It was far better now that she should never 
know the truth. It would be too cruel to try to 
make her understand, to try to sweep away the 
beautiful ideal on which she was resting— the safety 
and consummate happiness of her treasure. 


248 


REST OR UNREST 


But O, it was hard to meet the mother of whom 
he had dreamed; once only ! as & stranger, to be 
allowed only to clasp her hand ! It was hard that 
they should be — mother and son as they were — 
only “ friends in the bond of sorrow.” He wished 
that he had died in that long ago of which she had 
spoken and yet seemed unable to realize. 

She was passing from the room. His eyes fol- 
lowed the slender figure draped in the mourning 
garments which she wore, unknowingly, for him. 
He had probably seen her for the last time. In a 
few hours he would be conducted to the living 
tomb from which there would be no release but 
death. “ O, mother, mother ! ” was the cry that 
struggled for utterance in his full heart. To be 
clasped in her arms but once, to lay his head on 
her breast for a moment, would be a recompense 
for much that he had suffered, and make him 
forget for the time what the future held in store 
for him. 

He rose to his feet and made his way after the 
receding forms, forgetful of her sorrow, forgetful of 
all things but the pain that was gnawing at his 
heart. Strong man that he had been, he had 
braved danger in its most appalling- forms in the 
discharge of his duty ; he had, in years gone by, 
schooled himself to care nothing for the joys of 
home and kindred which had been denied him ; 
but to-day there was in his soul an uncontrollable 
yearning to be that “ one whom his mother com- 
forteth.” 


THOU WILT NEVER BE TIRED: 


249 


His mother! It could not be that he had just 
seen her for the first time and the last. He felt as 
if he had known and loved her always ; as if her 
influence had been around him and her love to him 
a shield. 

These thoughts flashed through his mind with 
lightning-like rapidity as he saw her passing from 
him. He opened his lips for the cry which he felt 
that hp could not restrain. 

At this moment Osmond glanced behind him, and, 
seeing the haggard face so near, fixed on him a look 
of pity which was strongly mingled with pleading. 

He remembered, and was himself again. He 
would not be so cruel to her for his own sake. He 
would bear his burden in silence though it should 
break his heart. 

Julian Ball, who would never bear the name which 
was his by right, watched his mother and cousin as 
they went slowly up the wide stair-case ; and as they 
turned to follow its winding he caught one more 
glimpse of the pure white face — his mother’s face — 
and then he said to the officer accompanying him, 
and who had waited at the door: 

“ I am ready.” 

He did not go back to take another look at the 
little sleeper with a face so like the lilies above its 
breast. His sorrow and his mother’s requiem had 
reconciled him to its death. As she had said, it was 
well with the child, and he felt, too, that it was well 
with the other dear one so suddenly called away 
from earth. 


250 


REST OR UNREST \ 


The son went down the marble steps of his 
father’s house in custody of the guard, and back to 
the jail to await his removal to the new home which 
was to be his henceforth. 

The mother went to her chamber, there to kneel 
in prayer that the bereaved one who had wept by 
“ her baby’s coffin ” might also be comforted. 

And what of the father on his bed of helpless- 
ness? Did his memory go back to that Sabbath 
morning, years ago, when he had dared to defy the 
power of Omnipotence ? All this time he had in his 
heart presumed to arraign the justice of the God of 
the universe, and had harbored the hope that he 
should yet recover his lost son and thus thwart the 
purpose that seemed to aim at his punishment. 

He had so strongly willed that it should be so 
that he had at length, after many struggles with his 
doubts, been enabled to credit the idea that he had 
accomplished his object. The mutilated manuscript 
brought by the one who had come to him and called 
him father had strongly hinted at deception ; but 
he wished to believe the lie, and at last had done 
so. 

Now the truth in all its ghastliness had come to 
him, and he could not turn away from it. He was 
walking in the light of the fire which he had kindled. 
His writhing soul was giving terrible response to the 
question once put by God to the rebellious and dis- 
obedient : “ Can thine heart endure, or can thine 
hands be strong, in the days that I shall deal with 
thee ? ” Ezek. 22. 14. 


THE REST THAT REMAINETH. 


251 


CHAPTER XXI. 

THE REST THAT REMAINETH. 

I am the Lord your God ; walk in my statutes , and keep my 
judgments and do them ; and hallow my Sabbaths ; and 
they shall be a sign between me and you , that ye may 
know that I am the Lord your God. — Ezek. 20. 20, 21. 

I T has been truthfully said that a proper observ- 
ance of the Sabbath would, as a frequent re- 
minder of the true God, have prevented the evil of 
idolatry with all its train of sin and suffering. A 
particular day observed as God’s day is indeed a 
sign between him and his creatures, and keeps the 
great truth of his existence ever clearly before the 
minds of men. This idea has not only the support 
of the Scripture, but also that of our common reason, 
and this in spite of the labored efforts of the 
enemies of the Sabbath. 

A modern anonymous writer has been at some 
pains to promulgate the idea that Robert Barclay 
is the best authority upon the Sabbath question that 
can be found (not excepting the divine Lawgiver 
himself). While compelled to admit that he is not 
fully accepted authority among the orthodox of even 
his own denomination to-day, he yet, with labori- 
ously specious arguments, recommends his views to 
all indiscriminately. 

A short quotation from the “ great theological 


252 


REST OR UNREST. 


writer,” as our author styles him, will be suffi- 
cient : 

“ We, not seeing any ground in Scripture for it, 
cannot be so superstitious as to believe that either 
the Jewish Sabbath now continues or that the first 
day of the week is the antitype thereof or the true 
Christian Sabbath.” 

And such doctrine is recommended to those who, 
in the brighter light of this later day, can find the 
Word of God on every hand. 

The indorser of Mr. Barclay refers to the objection 
to Sunday newspapers as bringing secular affairs 
into the Sabbath, and remarks : 

“ If Christians and church members would carry 
the principles of this religion into secular affairs the 
two could be mixed without detriment to either. 
All days should be equally sacred to the Christian 
and all as truly devoted to the honor and glory of 
God as the Sabbath.” 

This sentiment may, to the young and inexperi- 
enced, seem to breathe a sevenfold spirit of conse- 
cration to the service of God. But beware! God’s 
ways are best. The observance of the rule that he 
has laid down must be more acceptable to him 
than any that finite man can devise. 

Do you remember how God commanded that the 
ark of the covenant should be carried by means of 
staves passed through the rings made for that pur- 
pose, and how Uzzah died for presumptuously lay- 
ing his hand upon the sacred chest as the oxen 
shook the cart upon which it had been placed? 


THE REST THAT REMAINE TH. 


253 


It is arrogant folly to presume to improve upon 
God’s rules. True wisdom will ask in all humility, 
“ Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?” and study 
his word with honest endeavor after an answer. 

The duty of Christians to carry this religion with 
them always and every-where is one that no one 
will dispute, but the proposal to make all days alike, 
thereby honoring and glorifying God, may well 
suggest a doubt of the sincerity of the desire to 
render this honor and glory. 

The idea of giving to the God before whom the 
angels veil their faces the “ mixture ” which would 
often unavoidably contain so much of the world and 
so little of true spirituality, is certainly lacking in 
the element of honor. 

Would we enter the presence of an earthly king 
with the implements of labor in our hands ? W ould 
we give to an earthly friend to whom we wished to 
show respect only the stray scraps of time and atten- 
tion which we could grasp while following uninter- 
ruptedly our daily routine of work ? The idea is con- 
trary to all our conceptions of the fitness of things 
in regard to all affairs, both human and divine. 

Life is made up of specialties. We have special 
hopes and aspirations, and make special efforts 
after special attainments. While it is our duty to 
love all mankind we have particular loves and 
friendships. We have a certain day in our national 
calendar which we celebrate as the natal day of our 
liberty. We remember the anniversaries of great 
events or the birth of great men. We decorate 


254 


REST OR UNREST. 


the resting-places of our dead on stated occasions 
when all over the land tender hands are employed 
in laying chaplets on the graves of fallen heroes. 
It is our duty always to remember them lovingly 
and gratefully, yet we deem this special offering 
fitting and appropriate. 

As a nation we made continued, specific, and ex- 
pensive preparations for the colossal exhibition 
that was to celebrate the centenary of our national 
existence. All this is deemed well. Yet listen to 
the story! God reached out his omnipotent hand 
and in six days performed the miracle of the cre- 
ation. He rested on the seventh day and set it 
apart as holy. Four thousand years later the Son 
of God came down to earth and wrought the stu- 
pendous work of the new creation by his life, death, 
and resurrection. Yet these momentous events are 
thought by some to demand no special commem- 
oration ! It is deemed sufficient honor to our 
Maker and Redeemer to “mix” our religion with 
our secular affairs ! 

. The Master’s example is before us and it is our 
bounden duty in our every-day life to walk even as 
he walked, in so far as the sinful and finite can 
follow the immaculate and the infinite. But do we 
not need special and stated times for withdrawing 
from the turmoil of secular affairs, which often 
grudge a brief respite night and morning, for a little 
converse with our heavenly Father, a little study 
of the word of God, a little meditation on the 
model which we are aiming to copy, a little un- 


THE REST THAT REM A INETH. 


255 


wonted striving after preparation for the life to 
come ? 

While no true Christian will lay aside his religion 
as a Sunday garment on the working-days, no true, 
growing Christian will be long content with an ex- 
istence uninterruptedly mixed with secular affairs. 
There are many disciples of Jesus among the- 
world’s busy toilers, and to these the Sabbath is a 
priceless boon, a day on which they may hear the 
Master saying : 

“ Come ye yourselves apart and rest awhile.” 

To such, viewing this life as a probationary state, 
the Sabbath is a perpetual reminder of the fact that 
the time shall come when we shall forever rest from 
our present labor. This thought is a powerful 
stimulus in obeying the command, “ Six days shalt 
thou labor, and do all thy work.” 

The Sabbath is also anantepast of “the rest that 
remains for the people of God.” While we have no 
reason to believe that the joys of heaven consist of 
idle inactivity we know that the curse of labor 
shall be removed and that we shall rest from sin 
and sorrow. 

My young reader, let me warn you again against 
those who would blindly destroy one of the highest 
blessings which God has given to man, who pro- 
nounce the Sabbath “ an antiquated custom, behind 
the march of civilization.” Do not be deceived by 
such. Beware of a civilization that would outstrip 
the Almighty. Beware of a wisdom that claims to 
be wiser than Omniscience. 


256 


REST OR UNREST. 


When we hear or read the arguments of such we 
cannot do better than to follow the example of 
Christ, when assailed with similar sophistry by the 
arch tempter — go to the word of God for refutation. 
It is so plain that he who runs may read : 

“ Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy.” 

. When they tell you that the observance of the 
holy day is merely. an effete rite of the Mosaic dis- 
pensation, go back before the birth of Abraham ; go 
back to that early period of time for answer when 
“ the evening and morning were the seventh day,” 
and hear: “God blessed the seventh day, and sanc- 
tified it.” Gen. 2. 3. 

But if we wish for human testimony let us have 
that of some of those whose names the world couples 
with wisdom and soundness of judgment. 

Daniel Webster has said : 

“ I believe the Bible is to be understood in the 
plain, obvious meaning of its passages,” and “ when 
the mind is reasonably convinced that the Bible 
is the word of God the only remaining duty is to 
receive its doctrines with full confidence of their 
truth, and practice them with a pure heart.” 

Blackstone, the noted lawyer, and author of com- 
mentaries on the laws of England, has said: 

“ A corruption of morals usually follows a profa- 
nation of the Sabbath.” 

Sir Matthew Hale, the celebrated English jurist, 
has made the assertion that “ of all the persons who 
were convicted of capital crimes while he was 
upon the bench he found a few only who would 


THE REST THAT REMAINETH. 


257 


not confess, on inquiry, that they began their career 
of wickedness by a neglect of the duties of the Sab- 
bath and vicious conduct on that day.” 

There are many parallel opinions of the good and 
great which might be cited ; but these are enough. 
Where can we look for higher human authority? 

This is the testimony of men who cannot be ranked 
as religious recluses, whose mind^ were filled with 
ideality and mysticism. They were busy, tireless 
toilers in the realm of the world’s deepest thought; 
statesmen and lawyers whose acquaintance with 
human nature was comprehensive and whose forensic 
abilities arid broad, discriminating judgment, have 
made them of world-wide celebrity. Their opinions 
are worthy of consideration. Then, if men deem not 
the word of God and the witness of his ministry 
sufficient, but must have the indorsement of 
intellect which the world at large accepts as un- 
questioned, refer them to the testimony of Sir 
Matthew Hale, Blackstone, and Webster. 

There are clouds of witnesses whose views are 
identical with those of these great men, and whose 
names are as far above those of the highest antago- 
nists of the Sabbath, whether they teach secretly 
or openly, as mountains are higher than mole-hills. 

A year has passed since Julian Ball went out 
from his father’s house a condemned man, sentenced 
to end his days in the living tomb of a State 
prison, and his little child was laid to rest beside its 
mother in the beautiful cemetery of Blankton Hill. 

17 


25S 


REST OR UNREST. 


Miles away, the one who had longingly awaited 
their coming until fear gave way to despair was 
resting, too, in a quiet country grave-yard. 

The furnace whose roar had mingled with all his 
sleeping and waking thoughts through the long 
hours that followed his injury was silent now. 

The light that had illuminated all the region for 
so long had gone out in darkness. There had been 
the darkness, too, of loss and bankruptcy. Man had 
proposed to prosper in violation of the laws of 
nature and revealed religion ; but He who hath his 
way in the whirlwind and the storm, and “ doeth 
his will in the armies of heaven and among the in- 
habitants of the earth,” had wrought otherwise, as 
was testified by the utterly forsaken appearance of 
the late bustling scene. Where but lately there was 
no Sabbath rest there was now the long, long rest 
of complete desolation. 

It was suggestive of the words of God to his 
ancient people when he threatened them with exile 
for their disobedience : “ Then shall the land enjoy 
her sabbaths, as long as it lieth desolate, and ye be 
in your enemies’ land.” 

His recompense does not always follow rebellion 
thus swiftly. It is not always executed in this life, 
though it often comes sooner or later even here. 
Philip Watson is an inmate of an insane asylum. 
Judge Jameson and the censor of The Telescope are 
prosperous still, and still follow the ways that seem 
good in their own eyes; the one perverting justice 
in the courts of the land, the other scattering broad- 


THE- REST THAT REM A EVE TH. 259 

cast opinions that are at variance with the truths of 
God’s word, and sneering through his columns at 
healthier consciences than his own. “ Because sen- 
tence against an evil work is not executed speedily, 
therefore the heart of the sons of men is fully set 
in them to do evil.” 

The defaulting cashier of the Blankton Bank suc- 
ceeded in escaping from the country with his booty. 
The bank has been re-established, and Mr. Weldon, 
who lost a large part of his year’s salary at Rock- 
land, is employed as clerk. Osmond Young has his 
old position, and in a comfortable home of his own 
providing he strives to make his uncle and aunt 
forget their fallen fortunes. 

Edna Varney has realized her old dream of liv- 
ing with the kindly Jew and his beautiful daughter, 
now Jews no longer in faith, but firm believers in 
the Messiah promised unto Israel ; devout wor- 
shipers of the God of their fathers, offering their 
praises and petitions through him whose is “ the 
only name under heaven, given among men, whereby 
we must be saved.” 

The dwarfing effects of the early life of the drunk- 
ard’s child are yielding before the better influences 
that have been thrown around her since her father’s 
death ; and though she often thinks sadly of her 
misguided relatives, yet she is living a busy, happy 
life. She often visits the gentle lady whose sorrow 
for the little child that she, too, had loved created 
a bond between them, and she is always welcomed 
with a smile. 


260 


REST OR UNREST. 


Mrs. Ball is tranquil, and apparently at peace. 
Her eyes have lost the yearning, questioning look 
which they had carried for so many years, and now 
wear an expression of restfulness which is good to 
see. Her husband came forth from the sevenfold 
heated furnace of affliction chastened and trans- 
formed, his proud spirit bowed as well as his stal- 
wart frame. He made an earnest effort to secure 
the pardon of his son, but it failed ; and now a white- 
haired old man with stooping form and trembling 
steps is well known to the prison warden, as he 
comes and goes, a frequent visitor to one whom he 
calls “ my son,” but whom the year has aged almost 
as completely as himself. 

There is a touching pathos in their frequent inter- 
course, a sadness from the cloud that can never in 
this life be uplifted from above them ; but they have 
both the vision that sees beyond the shadows, and 
they often talk together with solemn gladness of 
“ the rest that remains for the people of God.” 


THE END. 

















































